


Half Light

by Windian



Category: Tales of Graces
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood and Injury, Canon Divergence, Daddy Issues, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalised Homophobia, M/M, Politics, Rating to rise in later chapters, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:42:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27065074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windian/pseuds/Windian
Summary: At his adopted father's garden party, Lieutenant Hubert learns of Lord Aston of Lhant's death. All the answered questions he laid to rest return like ghosts to the surface; why had he been sent away from Lhant? Why did his brother Asbel shun him? And why can't he remember?Seven years after that fact, Hubert returns to his old home, the dark gloomy town of Lhant, to demand answers from his brother.
Relationships: Asbel Lhant/Hubert Oswell
Comments: 26
Kudos: 11





	1. the boy from Lhant

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based off, you guessed it, Count [Asbela](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/talesofcrestoria/images/4/4f/Asbel_%28Count_Asbela%29.png/revision/latest?cb=20200928054936) from Tales of Crestoria! Alas we won't see Asbel(a) for a few chapters, and he might not be as fabulous as the unit from the game. 
> 
> Read and enjoy! And comment, if you'd like to. There's plenty more chapters to come.

I heard news of my birth father’s death from a stranger. 

I’d recently returned from being stationed in the desert, out past Sable Ozelle. No news reached the encampment but breadcrumbs of information brought by passing merchants. Nothing but blasted sand, which got into everything. And the lizards, which also got into everything. Stay long enough in the desert and you forget that there is life outside of it. At night, the silence can swallow you whole. 

But newly re stationed in my home of Yu Liberte, there now seemed to much useless noise, too much empty chatter. I missed the desert and its silence, even the cold aching loneliness of it. 

Personally, I think the sun baked my brain. 

Being home also meant I was duty-bound to attend my adopted father’s parties, as he was eager to show me off. I was no longer the shy child hiding his hands in his sleeves, but after six months in the wilderness, I grew tired of it easily. 

“Youngest Lieutenant this century,” Mister Garett Oswell boasted, as he paraded me around the garden like a golden goose. 

The garden was especially beautiful tonight; the acacia trees strung with twinkling lights, the tables laden down with artfully carved ice sculptures. With the sundown the smell of spicy rabbitbrush rose into the cool air like a lady’s perfume, lingering after she’s left the room. The President himself was sat by the tinkling fountain, drinking iced brandy with several of his ministers and a companion. My father steered them towards them, his hand on my back, as though he was steering a ship’s rudder.

“Dylan, I’m so glad you accepted my invitation,” he said. The President shook his head, raising his glass.

“I’m glad I came. This is fine brandy,” the President said. My father launched into a humble brag about the source of the drink, but I noticed the President’s eyes slide over towards me. We’d met several times before, mostly at my father’s garden parties, but I still felt rather awkward around him. 

“Well, if that isn’t Hubert. Congratulations on your new post, son,” he said, warmth in his eyes. 

“Thank you, President Paradine,” I said, stiff. 

“We’re at a party, Hubert, not at work. You can call me Dylan.”

“Yes, Dylan, Sir. I mean--” I said, and there was a titter of laughter. My face felt as though it was burning. My father’s hand, resting on my shoulder, tightened. 

The President laughed good-naturedly, and then to my shock, handed me his glass of brandy. “I think you need this more than me, Hubert. Try to relax and have a good time. I doubt we’ll be attacked tonight.”

I managed a, “Thank you,” without stumbling over my words and making a complete fool of myself. 

It was as I was silently beating myself up that the President’s lady companion leaned over and touched her hand to his arm. “Speaking of which, I’ve heard rumour that Fendel has worsened its forays into Windor’s borders. Is it true that the Lord of Lhant lost his life?”

“Ah, Lord Aston Lhant. Sadly, true,” the President said dryly. 

The conversation continued, but the voices became noise, crashing over my head in foaming waves. I was no longer at my father’s garden party, but the old, dark house in Lhant, with its unceasing rain, and perpetual damp. I walked, half-hopped up the creaking stairs, pushing open the heavy oak door into my father- my other’s father’s- office. A stern, crowded, teak room, much like the man himself. But warm yellow lamplight spilled onto his auburn hair. Behind his imposing desk, with a similar warmth, his downturned mouth twitched into a smile.

_Can’t sleep, Hubert?_

_No. Can I stay with you?_

_For a little while_ , he said. 

For a while, then, I shuffled through the countless books in my father’s library, but soon grew tired. As the sound of my father’s quill scratched over my head, I curled myself around the heavy leg of his desk. It was carved into the shape of a griffin, and sleepily I trailed my finger through the grooves in the wood, tracing its shape. Occasionally, the quill paused in thought, and my father’s hand brushed the top of my head, as though I was a pup curled up at his feet. The rain beat heavily against the windows, and there I fell asleep, dreaming of my father and I, and griffins. 

I was brought out of my memories by Garett Oswell’s stern voice. “Hubert. Are you listening to me?”

The sound of the rain was gone, replaced by the gentle tinkling of the fountain, the murmur of voices. The President and his entourage was gone, and my adopted father and I were alone. 

Of course, there was no rain in the desert. 

“Did you know?” I asked, a barb in my tongue.

“Of course,” he said, eying me cautiously over his spectacles. 

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I didn’t think you’d care. After all, he cared so much of you.” 

“As you so often remind me,” I spat. The hurt was an old one, but today it felt fresh, and I wasn’t in the mood for Oswell to twist the knife. 

“You’re getting emotional,” he said cooly, as though it was an observation. 

I checked myself. “I’m not. And you’re right; I don’t care. He means nothing to me.” 

My father nodded, but I saw his steely gaze run over me, searching out signs of weakness. 

“Go inside. You needn’t worry about tonight,” he said. From anyone else, this might have come from a place of concern. But from my father, I knew he feared I’d bring embarrassment upon him. 

I didn’t react. He’d trained me well.

“Then I’ll say goodnight, Father.”

“Goodnight, Hubert. Don’t dwell on it.”

Finding the President’s brandy still in my hand, I downed it, wincing as it burned my throat. 

Because tomorrow was my day off, I returned to my old bedroom in the manor, instead of my quarters in the base. Decorated spartanly, it’d been empty for several months, and the air took on a stale taste. I propped open the window, and sat down at my desk, planning to write some reports. 

Of course, I couldn’t. I stared at the blank piece of vellum, the details evaporating in my head. The noises of the party outside faded away.

For the first time in years, I let myself think about my family. My father, who was gone. My mother, always stood by his side, her hair carefully pinned above her head. My brother Asbel, who would be my father’s miniature with his auburn hair, if it wasn’t for his buoyant smile. He’d been my best friend, in another lifetime.

Asbel hurt the most to think about.

When the knock came at the door, thinking it the maid with another offer of warm milk, I raised my voice, “Not now, please.” 

The door opened anyway, and I turned in my seat with a furious glare at my cousin Raymond, who immediately sat himself down on my bed like he lived there. 

“I didn’t say you could come in.”

“Mr Oswell asked me to check on you. Said your old dad’s dead,” Raymond said carelessly. Subtly was never one of his talents.

“Well as you can see, I’m fine.”

“Oh, come off it Cos. I remember you sniffling every night for months at school. Do you know how hard it was to convince the older boys from sticking your head down the toilet?”

I glared so hard at my cousin I could have burned a hole in his clothes. “That was a very long time ago,” I said tightly. 

“Sure,” Raymond said with a smirk. “Anyway I’m here for you and whatever if you want to talk about stuff.”

“I’d rather lay down naked on the sands in midday,” I replied tartly.

“Don’t be a kinky bastard, Hubert. I mean it. I know we haven’t always gotten on, but I’ve come to think of you as something like a little brother. Talk to me.”

He’d said those words to me once before, when I was newly arrived in Yu Liberte and this gangly, pimply teen had put his arm around me, told me he’d be my big brother now. 

I’d finally dug myself out of my sleeves and my shyness to tell him hotly that I had a big brother, and he’d be coming to get me soon.

But that’d been a long time ago.

“What do you want me to say?” I asked. “I haven’t seen or heard the man for seven years. How can I grieve a man who’s dead to me?”

“I heard General Brookes talking about how Windor’s asked the army for aid. Who knows, we might be assigned out there. Hey, you could show me all the sights.”

My head swam at the notion. Perhaps I ought not to have downed my drink.

“Why on earth would Strahta aid Lhant? Windor has its own knights,” I demanded.

“Yeah, but they’re all caught up killing one another for the throne, aren’t they?”

It was true that though Lhant, part of the greater country of Windor, was also its own entity. Far north, with its hind legs pressed up against Fendel’s border, the outside world was mostly content to ignore the rural town. That the city of Barona had any interest in Lhant at all was due to the abundance of cryas mines within its borders. Lhant had its own militia, and for the most apart, was ruled by its lord, my late birth father.

Now, with Barona embroiled in a civil war for the last year over the rightful ruler to the throne, Lhant was well and truly on its own. 

“Well, I doubt we’d be sent out there,” I said.

Raymond shrugged. “I don’t see why not. But hey, wouldn’t that feel good, marching in to save the hides of the people who abandoned you? That’d show ‘em.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, a little too sharp, because my thoughts had been marching in that direction. 

He raised his hands in defense. “Just a thought. If we do go, anyway, I’ll be there with you.”

There was a rare sympathy in Raymond’s voice. It was that— the idea of being pitied— that infuriated me more than anything else. I’d have preferred his needling. 

“Oh, bugger off, Raymond.”

The new week soon arrived, and I was glad to throw myself into my duties. Though my unit no longer had to face the assault course, crawling through the dry desert heat and running laps around the Valkines Cryas, every morning still started with a ten kilometre run. We rose before sunrise, for the heat soon became unbearable as the sun resurfaced from its brief respite. The men grumbled, and I knew that I was attaining the reputation of being a hard taskmaster. But in my mind, I only held the men to the same strict standards I held myself to. 

In truth, although we’d spent the last six months sleeping together under the stars, I felt a distance between myself and the men I couldn’t ford. I could give orders, I could give a report, and I’d be so bold to say I’d assuaged a degree of respect from my peers. But I couldn’t talk to them. My old childhood shyness had hardened into something cold and aloof. I myself was aware of it, but I had no idea how to bridge it. 

One of the few men I could hold a reasonable conversation with was a man my own age called Andrew. Andrew’s family was from Windor, and had emigrated when he was young. We had never discussed this, but I had read it in his file. 

For the past week we’d been assigned to aiding the hundreds of refuges from Barona. They had escaped the war, only to arrive sweating and with sunstroke in Oul Ray. Some had settled there, and others made the long trek through the desert to Yu Liberte. Those that arrived first were settled into emergency housing. For those that arrived afterwards, a sea of tents was erected just outside the city limits, the army dispatched to provide emergency supplies and rations. There was simply no other place to put them. 

“You mean to say we’ve come all this way, and there’s no place for us?” I was asked, tearfully, too many a time. All I could offer was stilted apologies and vague assurances about the future. Instead I’d watch Andrew as he knelt by the refuges’ side, giving them a comfort I couldn’t offer.

“Just bear it up as best you can, for a little while. Things will get better. I’m from Barona, too. I lived next to the Butchers. That’s right, Ashby’s. Believe me, you can make a good life here.” 

I often found myself scanning the sea of sunburnt refuges, looking for a familiar face. But there was no one; the refuges were here from Barona and the surrounding villages, those that had been razed during the ongoing conflict. And I couldn’t bring myself to ask if any had news from Lhant. 

As Andrew and I dug supplies out from the storeroom, he spoke aloud. “Sounds like my family got out while the getting was good. There were rumours about the Archduke even then, you know?”

“You’re from Barona?” I said, as though this was news to me.

“Yes, Sir. Emigrated nearly ten years ago. Ah, there— found the spare water cannisters.” 

“I see. We should start a proper inventory. I don’t know who organized this, but there’s no rhyme nor reason to it.”

“Yes, Sir. I’ll check around the back in case there’s more.”

I started a crude tally in my notebook, making an internal memo to file this into my report. Andrew squeezed himself into the gap between the piles, and called out, “How about you, Sir? Are you rooting for the Archduke or the young Prince?” 

I glanced up from my notebook, brow crumpled. “I hardly think Windor’s political entanglements concern me.”

Andrew lent back out from the gap. “Forgive me Sir, but I thought you were a Windor national like me. Aren’t you from Lhant?”

I stared, my inventory forgotten. “How do you know this?”

“Sorry, Sir. It’s common knowledge amongst the men. I didn’t realise you didn’t know.” 

“Right.” I flipped aimlessly through my notebook. “Well, I suppose it’s not a secret, no. Indeed, I’m originally from Lhant. I… emigrated some years ago.” I flipped back the other way, and thought, blast it. Why shouldn’t I tell him? Why did I have to be so guarded with everything?

“Actually,” I said, airily, “I was adopted by the Oswell family. My father, Lord Aston of Lhant, thought the sunny climate here in Strahta would suit me, and sent me off. Which was a good decision, really, considering the way the country is going. And now he’s gone, my reckless older brother will be governing in his place. So no doubt Lhant will go down the pan soon, too.”

I spoke quickly, without pause for breath. I glanced up at Andrew, who’d frozen, staring at me with confusion and something like sympathy in his eyes. I turned my back on him. 

“Anyway, let’s get on with this inventory,” I said. 

I heard Andrew’s approach, but his gentle hand on my wrist still startled me as though I’d been shocked. 

“That sounds hard. You must have been very young,” he said.

My fingers still tingled. “Yes,” I said slowly. “Yes, I suppose I was.”

Andrew and I grew somewhat closer after the incident in the storeroom, I supposed because of our fellow kinship. He asked no more of my family, but brought me tidbits of information he’d learned from the refuges regarding Windor, and especially about Lhant.

Fendel hadn’t occupied the town, which relieved me far more than I cared to let on. Yet it seemed the position was still precarious, and Windor was too occupied tearing itself apart to protect its borders.

“I met a merchant who was in Lhant a fortnight ago. It seems Aston’s son is governing the town. I asked after the Lady of Lhant as well, and apparently she’s in good health.” 

Andrew found me in the mess hall that evening to give me the news. I was grateful that he painted Asbel and Lady Kerri in such broad terms, and didn’t say, your mother, or your brother. 

“And is Lord Asbel’s governance going well? What do the people think of him?”

Andrew paused. “I’ll ask the merchant when I see him next.”

True to his word, Andrew found me several evenings later with more news. 

“I spoke to the merchant. He said there was an ambivalent mood towards the new young lord. He’s extremely reclusive— few people see him. He has his men carry out his instructions.”

I was struck by this. Asbel was anything but reclusive as a child. But I supposed he was just too lazy to do the job himself. Andrew picked up on my confusion, because he asked, “Do you want me to ask him anything else, Sir?”

I shook my head. 

“Oh, there was one other thing. Lord Asbel is very reclusive, and not often seen in public, but his daughter is often out in the gardens.”

“His daughter?” I was glad I wasn’t drinking, because I would have spat it out. Well, Asbel had certainly fallen on with that fast. He was only a year older than myself— eighteen. 

I was an uncle. 

“Who is the mother?” I asked.

“He didn’t know, Sir.”

I fell deep into thought. Impossible to correlate the child I knew with the reclusive father who now governed Lhant. I thought of my brother, bright and bold, fearless and utterly reckless. It sounded a shadow of my brother that now stalked the halls of Lhant manor. What had happened? And why did I care?

Andrew could bring me no more news of my family— the merchant had only curt observations, having only briefly visited Lhant. But he continued to join me in the mess hall, discussing the political situation, as well as more trivial matters. Later, we retired to my quarters, to play chess or cards. The friendship was easy and comfortable, and all together alien to me. 

Despite my assertion that I didn’t care for the political situation in Windor, my mind often turned toward it. One evening, after a long game of chess, having run through all our usual topics, I said, “I met the young Prince, once, you know.”

“You never mentioned,” said Andrew, and there was a reason for that— Richard was far too entangled with my feelings about Asbel. 

“He was supposed to spend the summer at Lhant Manor. In retrospect, I believe King Ferdinand thought the political situation had become too dangerous for the young prince.”

“King Ferdinand must have trusted Lord Aston deeply to entrust his son to him.”

I nodded. “He fought for him. I believe he saved his life, thought my fa… Lord Aston was not the kind of man to talk about such a thing. But he was a seasoned warrior.” My lip curled in a wry grimace. “Aston the Undying, I heard he was called. Which is ironic, because, well.”

“Hubert…”

I cleared my throat. “Lord Aston forbid my brother and I from engaging the young prince. As I understand it, he would have spent the entire summer practically under room arrest, if Asbel hadn’t intervened. We had no idea at this point who this mysterious young guest was, apart from the fact he was clearly nobility from Barona. Asbel was deadset about making a new playmate out of him, regardless of Lord Aston’s orders. So he had us—” that was myself, our childhood friend Cheria, and a new friend, a young orphan called Sophie. “He had us climb through the prince’s window, where my brother demanded Richard come out and play with us.” The story drew a smile out of me. I had no idea I’d stopped speaking impartially, and had in fact called Asbel my brother. 

Andrew was smiling at me. I couldn’t fathom why. It set me off my stride.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Nothing. What was Prince Richard like as a boy?”

“Reserved, quietly dignified.” I cast my mind back to the boy in the bedroom, and _people only want me for what they can get from me._ “Distrusting,” I said. “And rightfully so. There had already been several attacks against his life. Even in Lhant he wasn’t safe, for his own sword instructor was a creature of the Archduke. My brother had this power, though. He was so earnest and forthright, he drew the Prince out of his bitterness and suspicion. He was devastated when Prince Richard’s visit was cut short and he had to return to Barona.”

“Had something happened?” asked Andrew. But now we were skirting around uncomfortably close to the incident, and my jaw locked. 

“It’s getting late,” I said, instead. “And we have a full day tomorrow.”

Andrew didn’t immediately rise from his seat. “I’ve never seen you smile before, Lieutenant.” He paused. “It suits you.”

It wasn’t just that I didn’t want to talk about it; moreover, I couldn’t. 

I couldn’t remember. I remembered sitting in the physician’s office in Barona as he talked about trauma and amnesia, and Lord Aston never spoke of it. I only remembered that it concerned the five of us: my brother, Cheria, Sophie, Prince Richard and I, and that it ended with Sophie dead, and Asbel locked away in his room, refusing to come out. Prince Richard was swiftly returned the capital, and just a few months later, I was adopted into the Oswell family. This devastating event had affected all of our lives— and ended poor Sophie’s— and I couldn’t recall it. 

The adoption had come quickly. One moment I was accompanying my father to Barona on a trip, and then next, I was introduced to Mister Garett Oswell. Mister Oswell had smiled and shook my hand, and he and Lord Aston had spoken at length about how I would enjoy my new school in Yu Liberte, and all the academic possibilities I would enjoy that I couldn’t in Lhant. I hadn’t truly understood until I was on the ship to Strahta, and the crew addressed me as Young Mister Oswell. 

I hadn’t even been able to say goodbye to Asbel, who had put a cold hard door between us. 

One moment I’d been happy in Lhant, and in the next, completely shut out. 

What I couldn’t figure out was why.

Ever since I heard the news about Lord Aston, my dreams had been disturbed. I dreamed of pools of blood, seeping into carpets, dripping down staircases. I often woke in a terrible panic, my heart beating shamefully, sheets damp with sweat and knotted up into a hammock from my thrashing. I was glad that my promotion has afforded me a private room, for it brought back ugly memories of the dormitory at the Academy, where such behaviour was social suicide.

My performance suffered. Aston’s death had broken the seal of memories long locked away, and speaking about the past with Andrew drew them further to the surface. For the longest time, I had only thought about performing well in the Academy and making my new father proud. Then, when I reached the age of conscription, I focused only furthering my rank, making a name for myself. I refused to be defined by the past. I would no longer be the boy who was abandoned. 

These achievements left no room for anything else, let alone friendship. 

I could feel Andrew’s concern for my unusual behaviour, and I knew that if I asked it of him, he’d offer me his shoulder. I refused it, our conversations curt and brisk. I sensed that this sudden change hurt him, but he never spoke of it. 

I’d become obsessed with obtaining further news from Lhant. Despite my assertions that Windor wouldn’t draft help from Strahta, I waited for the news that our unit was heading for Lhant. 

Yet, as the weeks passed, that news never came. The migrants continued pouring in from Barona, and we kept up our usual training regime, as well as aiding the refuges. Delta Squad were ready for active service at any time.

Except for I, who no longer slept through the night. When I slept, I dreamnt of blood. The fear that accompanied the dreams was so acute that it bled into my waking hours. I felt paranoid and on-edge. I became convinced one of the men was using my razor. Things turned up in places where they shouldn’t be.

At last, my commanding officer called me into their office. I knew it wasn’t going to be good.   
  
Captain Banner had a good reputation amongst the men. She was strict, and wasn’t interested in engaging in niceties, but she was fair. I respected her a great deal, and the idea of being scolded by her made me want to lose the little breakfast I’d managed to swallow down. 

“Hubert,” the Captain said, as I sat awkwardly at her desk, my body tense as a rod. Then to my surprise, she smiled. It was the kind of smile you might use at a patient’s bedside. “How are you?” 

“I’m well, thank you,” I replied, terse.

She didn’t believe me in the slightest. Strumming her fingers on the oak desk, she sighed. “I don’t think either of us is the right person for this. I’m not going to waste your time, Hubert.”

I tensed, waiting for her admonishment. 

She handed me a stack of papers from across the desk. “I’ve come to offer you compassionate leave. Your performance hasn’t been what I’ve come to expect from you, and one of the men from your unit told me you’d lost your father recently. Naturally, your mind isn’t in the right place. You’ve accrued a good deal of leave, since you haven’t taken any since—” she rifled through her papers. Paused. “-ever. I strongly suggest you at least take a month off. Go and see your family.”

I’d her preferred her admonishment. I licked my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. “I fear there’s been a misunderstanding. Garett Oswell is alive and well, unless there’s something you need to tell me.” I chuckled without humour, and she gazed at me with damnable sympathy.

“I’m aware of your complicated family situation. And I think I may have given you the wrong impression. The paperwork has all been filled in, and you have a replacement for the next month. Don’t glare at me— you needn’t see your family if you don’t want to. Take some time away, go to the beach. Relax for once, Hubert. God knows you need it.”

I left the Captain’s office, silently seething. I didn’t want to relax; I wanted to murder someone. 

I knew straight away who had spoken to the Captain, and I marched with purpose to the barracks, where the men were relaxing in the mess hall after dinner. I found Andrew playing dominos with two of the other men, and his smile at my approach soon dimmed.

“I need to speak with you, Stevens,” I said, curt and clipped. I ignored the look the men exchanged.

“Yes, Sir,” said Andrew. I wanted to make sure we were out of earshot of the men, but by instinct, I led Andrew back to my own quarters. It was there I laid into him.

“I want you to know that I know what you’re playing at, Stevens.” I kept my voice cool and controlled, despite the rising anger in my throat. “Your little trick may have worked with Captain Banner, but I’ll be damned if I let you replace me.”

“Replace you?” Andrew feigned confusion excellently. Once his three years of conscription were up, he’d do well on the stage. I’d been a fool to trust him. “Hubert, I spoke to the Captain because—”

“You’ll address your commanding officer as Sir, Stevens.”

“I spoke to Captain Banner, Sir, because I was worried about you! All the men are. You’re not yourself. Surely you can see it too.”

“It’s true that I’m not one hundred percent on form, that I’ll give you. But I hardly think I need to be sent home, like… like a child, sent off to the nurse’s office.”

“You need to grieve, Sir. It’s natural. Normal.” Andrew fixed my gaze steadily, and just like Captain Banner, there was pity in his eyes. Something shifted in me.

“Grieve! What on earth am I supposed to grieve for? For the father that threw me away like I was unwanted toy, instead of a son? I have grieved! I was ten years old you know, and I didn’t know a soul in this country. My father has been dead to me for seven years. What should it matter to me that he’s gone now, when he hasn’t afforded me a thought in all that time?”

I was aware I was ranting, that my voice was rising. I found myself, pacing. But I couldn’t stop myself; all the bitterness and anger in me had come uncorked. It was all I could do to release it.

Andrew stood and weathered my tirade. He let me shout and rage. And unable to contain all the tempestuous feelings crashing about inside me, I lashed out at him. 

“You’ll be glad to know you’ll be rid of me tomorrow for a month. A month! You won’t have to pretend to enjoy our games, or my company, or—”

Andrew cut me off. “Are you really that blind, Hubert?” he asked, and the heat in his voice took me aback, gave me pause. “Do you really think I’ve been pretending to spend enjoying time with you, or that— that I’m trying to manipulate you in some way? Dear God, I thought that…”

He hesitated, and I said, “You thought what?”

His hands planted firmly on my shoulders, Andrew leaned forward and kissed me. A rough, clumsy kiss, but I could feel his hands shaking. I could hardly tell where he ended and I begun, because I was shaking too. Something stirred in me, but then I felt the echo of a ruler across my palm and the bright blaze of pain. For an instant I swore I could smell the cloying scent of magnolias in full bloom. 

He might as well have been kissing a statue. 

Andrew pulled back, his face flushed and splotched with red. “I thought…” he said again.

“You thought wrong,” I said. 


	2. silver, not grey

“Leave?” Oswell asked incredulously. “You never take leave.”

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t,” I said. I knew straight away that he didn’t believe me. After all, it’d been Garett Oswell who taught me the art of a lie in the first place.

“Well, no matter. I’ll make good use of you while you’re home.” I could see the gears turning behind his steely eyes, cold and industrial. “Say, you’re about the right age to be married. How would you like a wife?”

In the end, it mattered little what I would like. The annual ‘Paradine Gala’ was coming up, one of the biggest social events in the capital. As well as raising money for orphans, it was also the best venue to show off your philanthropist nature to future spouses. A bevy of weddings followed the gala every single year. It paid well to be generous.

Oswell took time out of his schedule to go to the tailors with me, where I was measured for a new suit. He fussed over my sleeves and made approving noises over the fabrics. For suitors looking for a bride, they could announce their intentions by wearing a double breasted suit. The tailor, who understood well what the influx before the gala were looking for, asked Oswell, “Single breasted or double this year, Mr Oswell?”

Oswell chuckled dryly. “Just a single for me. Don’t have time for that sort of thing. I’ll leave it to the youngsters.”

Of my adopted father, I knew that he had once been married, and that she had died young. I also knew he still carried her picture in his wallet. Any further details evaded me, because we did not have that sort of relationship.

Certainly, however, it struck me as odd to imagine that my Father had harbored anything as unproductive and unprofitable as love.

Marriage was a business transaction, a chance of an alliance forged, above all else.

Both Oswell and I had our suits cut in a deep navy blue. Stood in front of the looking glass as the tailor put on the final touches to the fitting, it struck me how alike we looked with our glasses and matching suits. We actually looked like father and son.

“Fine. Very fine,” Oswell said, in approval.

As it was hosted by the President himself, the gala was to take place at the Presidential Palace. Reams of the city’s wealthiest traversed the long driveway to the palace with the clatter of high heels and titter of excited laughter. We, of course, took our carriage, accompanied by cousin Raymond, who complained the entire time about how long we waited in line.

“It would have been faster to walk!”

Oswell eyed him in quiet disapproval. Raymond didn’t notice.

“You’d have people say the Oswells cannot afford their own carriage?” I asked.

“I’m just saying it’d be faster,” complained Raymond. Oswell glanced at me with a small smile.

There was a reason why I was my adopted father’s heir, and not poor, foot-in-the-mouth cousin Raymond.

He lounged back, sullen, wrinkling his burgundy, double-breasted suit. “Still can’t believe you took leave, Hu. I don’t think you missed a day of school, even when you had flu.”

“I think you’ll find it’s called work ethic, Raymond,” I said. He sulked. I was glad Captain Banner had been discreet. If Raymond caught wind that I was on compassionate leave, and the reason for it, he’d have run straight to my father to score points against me. The fool still hadn’t realised he’d already lost the game.

Just last week, it would have given me pleasure to see Raymond make an idiot of himself, to see Oswell’s approval. But I hadn’t slept, and what little sleep I did have was punctuated by the nightmares. Uneasiness bled from my dreams into my waking life. Our points scoring game no longer seemed to matter as much.

“Your suit looks good,” I admitted, and I watched as he re-inflated himself.

“Thanks, Cos. You don’t look half bad yourself.”

Oswell chuckled to himself. Who could say what he was thinking.

At the gate, our tickets were checked, and we were admitted into the palace grounds.

There is no where on earth quite like the presidential palace in Yu Liberte. A marvel of architecture and artistry, designed to flow in a single solid line. Water flows in sheets down feature walls. It sprays from the ground. It arcs in mesmeric gravity-defying fountains, casting rainbows across tiles cut with crystalline chips of blue zircon. From every wall it shouts the ingenuity of men; the same men who thought to build an oasis in the desert, to build his castle from sand.

Seven years to a day I’d first laid eyes upon it, at this very gala. I’d been newly arrived in Strahta, with Oswell eager to show off his new son. An all-together uncomfortable affair of endless introductions with important strangers, whose faces blurred into one. Cries of oh, isn’t he charming! Give us a smile, sweetheart. Are you shy? I’d smiled until my face went numb, and later had cried myself to sleep out of homesickness.

But there’d been a moment, as Oswell ushered me into the grand hall, that I’d looked upon my surroundings and been breathless.

“You see, Hubert?” Oswell said, his arm around my shoulders. “This is what man is capable of.”

The same night, I had also met the President. Father had impressed upon me his importance, and how imperative it was I said the right thing. I’d shaken his hand, and the President had done what no other at the party had, and knelt down to my level.

“Hubert, isn’t it? Our Garett’s new young protege. How are you enjoying Yu Liberte?”

“It’s beautiful, your Majesty,” I’d replied, in my ignorance. In the corner of my eye I saw Oswell cover his face with his hand, and I felt the heat rise up to my face. “Um— I mean—”

President. Not King. Strahta had overturned its monarchy in a bloody revolution, some hundred years hence.

But instead of mocking me, the President laughed. A deep booming laugh, as he reached out to touch my hair and ruffle it.

Just like my own father— like Lord Aston— used to do.

“Please forgive my son. He has a lot to learn,” Garett Oswell began.

“No harm done, Garett. The young man here can hardly be expected to pick everything up in just a few weeks,” the President said kindly. “You know, Hubert, when I was a boy I lived in Oul Ray. When I was your age, my father packed up all my family and moved us here to the capital. I couldn’t stand it.”

I stared at this open admission. I was always a quick study, and I was swiftly learning that no one in Yu Liberte seemed to say what they really thought. I didn’t expect the President’s honesty.

“Eventually, I learned to love the city, but for those first few months I spent every day begging my father to let us go home.” He smiled at me. “Being homesick is natural. So don’t feel like you need to get used to everything right away. You can adjust to things little by little.”

I saw the President’s gaze shift to Oswell as he spoke. He stood, smoothing down the creases in his suit. “I’ll look forward to seeing you again, Hubert.”

“You too, Sir,” I said.

The President shook Oswell’s hand, somewhat stiffly. “Do go easy on the lad,” he said.

Oswell smiled. It wasn’t altogether a nice smile. “Of course. Pertinent advice as always, Dylan.”

“Uh huh,” said the President, whose power clearly looked through the sort of men like Garett Oswell.

Then the hand was back on the rudder, and Oswell was steering me away. Back to more mind boggling politics and power plays, into molding me into a young man worthy of the name Oswell. But for a long time after that, I thought fondly of the important man who’d put his hand on my head, and who had told me he understood.

Dylan Paradine was little unchanged from our first encounter, save a few more streaks of grey in his hair. Standing up by the podium, speaking with the city’s mayor as people began to fill the seats for the auction. He gazed up at the crowd, and for an instant I thought his eyes alighted on me. Certainly, however, I could have been mistaken.

The items for the auction were from the President’s own personal collection. Before taking our seats, our small entourage inspected the items in their glass cases. They included a hand carved set of cups from a master artisan in the city, a painting by the renowned Jaqueline Durell, and a silver necklace set with rare blue sapphire. It was this item Oswell indicated to me, speaking softly so that Raymond could not overhear, “This one.”

Soon after, he spotted Jean Armitage, the minister for defense, and made a beeline towards her. Raymond and I stood, drinking our champagne, waiting for the auction to begin. My gaze drifted towards a gaggle of young ladies in their silk gowns. One such lady wore her dress cut in silver, light and delicate, like sea-froth. I imagined how the material might feel in my hand, against my skin.

Raymond, who’d noticed my gaze, nudged me with his shoulder. “Beautiful, right? I’m going to go for the redhead. What about you?”

“I see no point to mindless speculation. Whoever Father decides on will be sufficient,” I said, stiff as a board. I’d had the sudden fear Raymond might have seen into my thoughts.

Raymond rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Cos. Forget about what Oswell wants for a second. What about the blonde in the grey frock. I saw you looking. Cute, isn’t she?”

“Silver,” I said.

“What?”

“It’s silver, not grey."

“You’re such a pedantic son of a bitch, Hubert,” Raymond said. “Just admit you’re thinking of taking her home, unlacing those silk stays…” He grinned salaciously. I made a disgusted noise.

“All fun and well, until you’re married to that sort of woman. Spending frivolously, borrowing your own coinpurse, spending your wages, all on some fancy hat. No thank you. I’d much rather marry a sensible woman, a punctual military or service woman, such as…” my furor dried up. I couldn’t think of an example.

“What, like Captain Banner? You’re a sick, sick man, Hubert,” Raymond said, shaking his head.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then who? You know, I do wonder if you like women at all, Cos.”

“Don’t be daft,” I said, too hotly.

“If you’re queer, you can tell me,” Raymond said, smiling now, inviting confidence. “This isn’t Windor you know, ghosts and curses, antiquated laws and backwater rules. You’re in the civilised world now.”

“What, you think I’m like Colonel Barrows?” I said, my voice rising. “Poncing about all over the place?” It’d been a minor scandal when the Colonel had come out publicly. But despite the gossip, the Colonel still held his position. It made me feel quite queasy to see his ridiculous walk in the corridors, the fey manner he held himself in.

“Those sort of things can be handled discreetly, you know. But why? Do you think there’s something wrong with it?” asked Raymond.

“Of course! It’s… it’s disgusting, isn’t it? It’s unnatural, for one thing,” I said. I fought to keep my voice down. “And I’d ask you to keep your accusations to yourself, cousin.”

“And here I thought you a modern man, Hubert,” said Raymond, shaking his head ceremoniously.

I forced myself to walk away from the conversation. I’d let Raymond get under my skin. Normally I could bat away his pestering away like an unwelcome fly, but today, uncomfortable memories stirred too close to the surface. I wouldn’t admit he’d struck a nerve. I pulled at my stiff collar, sweating underneath. My gaze went back to the young woman in the silver dress, now delicately hoisting up her skirts to sit.

I could care for her, couldn’t I? It wasn’t that there was something wrong with me. It was only because of my strict military upbringing. Or perhaps I’d eaten too much spinach as a child— it had to be. I was nothing like the Colonel.

I was grateful when, moments later, the auction began, and the three of us took our seats. The President introduced all the items, and the bidding began. Raymond attempted to obtain the artisan cups, but was woefully outbid. He sulked and instead opted to bid on a lower price brooch set.

The final item was the sapphire necklace. The President took to the podium for its introduction.

“Now, this is a truly beautiful piece. Created by our own fine artisans here in Yu Liberte, the stones come from a mine in Lhant, Windor.”

Lhant!

“I’m certain this would be a beautiful engagement gift for any lucky bride.” Here the President paused, his eyes twinkling. “I’ve had it valued at 50,000 gald. So with that said, let’s start the bidding.”

The bidding began in earnest now. Even if Oswell had not instructed me, my eye had been drawn to the quality of the piece. Its link to my hometown only increased my interest. As the bids went higher, I glanced at Father for his approval. This would be the most expensive item of the night. He nodded.

“And… sold! To Mister Hubert Oswell for 100,500 gald!”

Father clapped me on the shoulder. I was flushed and sweating. The necklace had gone for a dizzying amount of gald. In the viewing section, I could see dozens of eyes upon me, appraising. The woman in the silver dress caught my eye. I nodded and offered her a tight smile.

“Congratulations, Cos,” said Raymond, miserably. “You’ll have the ladies throwing themselves at you.”

I went to collect my acquisition, handling the silver necklace in my hand. It was delicate work, the silver as thin as lacework. The sapphires a complement to the piece, not gaudy baubles to overwhelm it.

I imagined fastening it around my fiance’s neck. I thought about marriage, not lightweight and silver around my neck but choking, binding. As the excitement of my purchase faded away, I felt a cool dread creeping in, as cold as though someone had cracked an egg down my back.

“Well, Hubert, how does it feel to be the most eligible bachelor in the whole city?” the President asked. He put a hand on my shoulder.

“It’s… something, Sir,” I said, still breathing hard against the illusionary rope against my throat.

He chuckled. “Call me Dylan, Hubert. Now, I have a favor to ask. I’m sure you’re eager to speak to your many admirers, but may I steal you away for a few minutes? I’d like to speak with you.”

“Of course, si— Dylan,” I said, relieved at thought of a reprieve. The aftermath of the auction now filled me with a quiet terror.

We moved away from the main party, into the President’s private study. It was a room I’d never set foot in before, with elegant leather settees and books from wall to wall.

“What did you want to speak to me about?” I asked, once we were seated.

“Well, firstly, I wanted to extend my sympathies to you, Hubert. I know you and your birth father have been estranged for many years, but I understand it still must be a blow.”

“Oh… yes. Right, thank you.”

“I was surprised to see you at my little party. I wondered if you might make use of your leave to visit your family in Lhant,” the President said.

“Well... It’s as you said, Sir. We’ve been estranged for many years.”

Whatever I’d expected, it wasn’t this.

“I see. I’m afraid what I’m about to ask you may be indelicate, then. But I feel I owe it to you to at least offer. Windor has reached out to ask for aid in Lhant in pushing back the Fendel invasion, and we’ve finally reached a suitable agreement with them. We plan to send a contingency, and your squadron would be a perfect fit. As the son of its former lord, I believe you’d be the optimum choice in acquiring the people of Lhant’s co-operation.”

“Me?” I asked. My mouth had gone numb.

“Yes. You. Seven years is a long time. It would be quite the homecoming.”

Lhant isn’t my home. The words were on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them down.

“Of course, I understand this isn’t an easy thing I’m asking,” the President said, more softly now. “Which is why I wanted to ask you here, in an informal setting. You are quite within your rights to say no, and get happily married instead. I would hardly blame you.”

The noose, tightening. I caught sight of myself in the darkened glass window, Garett Oswell’s miniature. Everything I’d done had been to gain his favour, and now I surely had it.

And yet, I could hardly even recognise the man I saw in the mirror. Moody, taciturn, unable to handle my own emotions. I had everything I’d ever aimed for, even the President’s approval, and yet, it wasn’t nearly enough.

In truth, I was completely and utterly miserable.

The brief clarity in which I saw myself was frightening. As though a lightning bolt had hit me, and in that brief moment of light, I saw the shadows that clung to me, thrown into stark relief.

“Don’t feel like you need to answer straight away. I dare say you need to speak to Garett before you can make a decision,” the President said.

Naturally, I’d need permission. Perhaps that’s why I threw caution to the wind. “No, I’m your man, Sir. Delta Squad can leave on your command.”

I wouldn’t be returning to Lhant as a lost boy, coming home. Instead, I’d march in as its savior. Even if Oswell had molded me into his own image, my skills and hard work were my own. My men and I would free Lhant from Fendel’s yoke.

And perhaps along the way, I could regain something of what I’d lost.


	3. the cloud

Five days later, our contingency was ready to depart for Lhant.

I’d thought the situation in Yu Liberte bad, but the port at Oul Ray was swamped with refuges. By the smell, many of them still wore the same rags they’d left Barona in. Without enough housing for them all, some had resorted to begging and theft.

“It’s turning into a real problem,” The Harbourmaster said, as we prepared for launch. “We had an arson attack on the warehouse last week. Now the locals are getting antsy. Mark my words, if this crisis goes on long enough, there’s going to be a whole diplomatic incident out here.”

I saw the trouble with my own eyes as scrap broke out on the jetty, the voice of a sailor with hardened eyes calling out, “Go back to Barona where you belong! We don’t want you here.”

Beggars lined the pockets of shade bordering the harbour, sunburned hands extended. A man, delirious with either sunstroke or madness, proscribed to anyone who would listen. “They’re everywhere! They’ve infiltrated our own governments. We’re not safe even here! The undead, wearing human skin!--”

Several of the men stationed at the port managed to quieten him down. I feared that all around, patience was growing thin.

“I hope they don’t believe this sort of nonsense in Lhant,” Raymond drawled. He’d seen the entire exchange.

“They believe all sorts of nonsense in Lhant,” I replied. “Avoiding walking under ladders, unlucky black cats, throwing salt over your shoulder to avert demons…”

He snorted. “Superstition! You are from the backwater, aren’t you Cos?”

He wasn’t wrong. Strahtans were the children of sun and science. In the bright baking heat of Oul Ray, it was impossible to imagine ancient Lhant, with its superstition bred in the dark of winter, when the sun hardly shone. At night you heard the howls of the beasts that lived only outside the township’s gates.

I thought of Garett Oswell, smacking my hand as I’d made a sign against evil.

“Don’t act like a provincial peasant, boy. You’re in Yu Liberte now.”

Given how much he’d spent from the family vault during the charity auction, I didn’t think he’d be happy about my assignment. But Oswell had been hardly surprised at the news.

“Plenty of time to get you married on your return. It’ll do you good to see active service abroard,” he said, before returning to his paper, as though this was a non-event.

It wasn’t until I said goodnight, the eve before my departure, that Oswell paused me in the threshold.

“Hubert,” he called, as he met my eye. “Remember who you are.”

I carried that thought with me all the way to Oul Ray, clutching it like a talisman.

I was an Oswell, a soldier, a man of Strahta. Especially, in that order.

My duties left no room for doubt.

*

We set sail just before dawn aboard the _Valkines_ , one of the Navy’s newest and fastest ships.

The journey itself was uneventful, the mood on the ship buoyant. For many, this would be their first time out of Strahta. And for many, the first real time on a real battlefield. The same held true for myself, for although I had made a name for myself clearing out bandit holds in the desert caverns, it couldn’t compare to facing the armed might of Fendel. To lead a contingency into pitched battle at such a young age was unprecedented. And with my recent track record, I hoped I wouldn’t let my superiors down.

My men welcomed me back after my leave ended as though I’d never left. I’d put Andrew from my mind in the past month, but now that he was in front of me again, that wasn’t so easy. Allowing him to befriend me had been a mistake. From now on, I vowed to keep a cool, clean professionalism between my men and I.

On our first day on the ship, I was forced to keep that in mind as he caught me on deck.

“Lieutenant Oswell, permission to speak,” he said, with a salute.

“Granted, Lance Corporal Stevens,” I replied.

“I owe you an apology, Sir,” he said. “I know I overstepped my bounds by speaking to Captain Banner about your family situation. And I fear that I… misread certain aspects of our friendship. I’m truly sorry, Sir. I hope that we can forget about this mishap and put it aside.”

In Andrew’s apology, there was also an imploring request. Fraternizing with a superior officer, no matter their gender, was an act of misconduct.

“I accept your apology, Lance Corporal. And be assured I don’t plan on taking this matter any further.”

After all, to issue the misconduct, there would have had to have been fraternizing in the first place.

“Thank you, Sir,” said Andrew. I saw him visibly relax, his tense shoulders shifting. I considered him, his yellow hair dry and rough from the sea air, freckles burnished into his skin from the sun. I wondered, absently, if he’d let another man kiss him, or run their fingers through that sandy hair. The thought was both electrifying and nauseating. I swallowed hard.

“Let’s keep things professional from now on, Lance Corporal,” I said.

“Yes, Sir.”

Thereafter, there would be no more dinners spent together, or evenings in my room playing cards. I returned to spending my evenings alone, reading, writing reports. I was glad of it. It was easier, simpler.

Certainly, that was what I told myself.

*

Blood.

It was everywhere. Hot and sticky, on my hands and in my hair. When I swallowed, I tasted the cold tang of copper. It crept across the cold stone of the kitchen in a dark tide, it’s taint seeking me out in tendrils that crept down the cracks between flagstones. There was no stopping it. No escaping it.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

A loud banging like the beat of a drum filled my head. I covered my ears like a child.

“Lieutenant, Sir, we’re at the rendezvous point. Lieutenant?”

I jerked out of my dream, my waking so violent I felt my heartbeat in my eardrums, my fingers.

“What?” I shouted. Cold sweat was on my brow, my pajamas soaked through.

Private Gubbins stood immobile in the door, startled by my reaction. “I’m sorry Sir. You asked me to wake you when we reached the rendezvous point.”

The rendezvous point. Of course. The images from the nightmare retreated away, but the terror jammed into my throat remained.

“Right. I’m sorry Gubbins, you startled me. Give me a few moments, I’ll be out with you shortly.”

But the man lingered. “Is everything alright, Lieutenant?” he asked.

“Just a bad dream. Everyone has them sometimes,” I said.

Gubbins’ expression told me that people didn’t usually have dreams that caused a violent reaction as that, but he sensibly acceded.

“Sir,” he said, with a brief salute, before leaving me to dress.

My hands still weren’t working properly, and they trembled as I buttoned my uniform. I took a moment to pause, leaning my head against the wood paneled cabin wall. Trying to still the adrenaline that ran rampant through my body.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” I said aloud.

On the deck, the thick mist that choked the air drew me away from my troubles. It was dense, and getting denser, the sailors lighting the fog-lanterns at the stern and bow of the ship.

“How long has it been like this?” I asked the ship’s Captain, a gruff veteran by the name of Hopkins.

“Rolled in very suddenly a few hours ago. It’s been getting thicker by the minute. It’s been such slow going I was worried we’d miss the rendezvous,” he said.

Squinting through the mist, I saw the dim shape of a much smaller Strahtan craft alongside our own, build for speed and infiltration. The scouting party.

We boarded the craft to hear their report.

“Corporal Briggs, Sir,” Briggs said with a salute. “I come with good news, although it does have an edge. The weather has forced Lhant and Fendel into a stalemate. The fog settled into the valley a fortnight ago, and hasn’t shifted since. The reprieve has given the town’s militia time to regroup, but they’re desperately lacking supplies. They’ve been on their own rebuffing the Fendels for months.

“I’ve been told the Capital has stopped responding to their requests for aid. Intelligence from Barona says there’s been a large battle at Wallbridge. We’ve yet to confirm if the Prince or Archduke was the victor.”

Raymond snorted in derision. “This is why the monarchy ought to be put down like the old, ailing dog it is,” he drawled. I shot him a look.

“Continue, please,” I said.

“I’m afraid it’ll be slow going to Lhant. The fog’s made the voyage treacherous, and there’s no signs of it lifting. Go carefully.”

“We will,” I said.

Corporal Briggs was correct; it was painfully slow going. As we approached the mainland, the mist thickened into dense fog. Impossible to see a foot in front of you, the bright sun of yesterday a mere smudge of margarine in the sky. In time, it vanished all together, and there was only the sound of oars and shouts from sailor to sailor, intermittent whistles to warn nearby ships of our presence. Too dangerous to use the sails, we resorted to paddling to Lhant. Private Emery, the youngest of our contingency, sat on the prow of the ship with a cryas lantern, spotting the way.

Like the changing weather, the buoyant mood on-board had given way to something more somber. Cold air rolled down from the ice of the Fendel glaciers into Lhant’s moist, warmer clime, breeding the thick fogs that plagued the spring and autumn months. To a child of Strahta, they were as alien as the surface of the moon.

Even having grown up with it, I admit, there was an eeriness to it. The fog obscured, hid. Who could say what was lurking inside of it?

“No wonder you lot believe in ghosts and ghoulies, if you live with this,” Raymond said, with a shiver.

“I believe in no such nonsense,” I retorted. Later, I took great pleasure watching Raymond squark and jump out of his skin when an albatross flew above his head.

“What do you say, Lieutenant?” Captain Hopkins asked, after two days of unshakable bad weather. “You’re from these waters, aren’t you? Is this weather likely to shift?”

“Hard to say, Captain,” I told him. “As a boy, we once had a spring where we never saw the sun.”

For months, it was impossible to see where you were going. The local drunkard stumbled out of the tavern and drowned in the river, and was found bloated miles downstream a fortnight later. It’d been a hard spring, the fog harbouring all manner of coughs and diseases. It was the year Cheria, the family retainer’s granddaughter, had come down with a condition of the lung. If Lord Aston hadn’t paid to send her to the clinic in Barona, we would have lost her. Certainly, it was a relief when the sun broke through the clouds and the fog yielded at last.

I’d be glad to see Cheria again, although the thought conflicted me. After all this time, would she still recognise me? It edged too close to my inevitable family reunion. As much as I attempted to predict the outcome of our meeting, I couldn’t. My emotions clouded my logic, swinging wildly between grief and anger. The bitterest, hardest part of me howled for revenge against my abandonment. I wanted the house to have fallen on hard times, I wanted Asbel and Lady Kerri to hurt as I had been hurt.

 _You’re getting emotional, Hubert._ Oswell’s voice ghosted by my ear.

I’d earned a reputation as a talented tactician. Certainly, I could accurately map the courses of battle. I could see the advantages, disadvantages. I could predict the flow and use it to command the tide of battle. But I couldn’t map my own heart. It may as well have been a jar of bottled mist, obscured and impossible to see inside.

Far behind schedule, we made landfall. In the gloom, a smudge of yellow light wagged like a dog’s tail; the Habourmaster, guiding us in.

“God, I’m glad you made it in. I’d half convinced myself you’d end up smashed to bits at Ghecko Point. This blasted weather.”

The Harbourmaster’s face arranged itself out of the mist. With a start, I realised I knew him. Like an apparition, there stood the old grizzled Harbourmaster of my childhood. He’d spend half his days chasing Asbel, and by extension myself, undoing the mischief my brother wrought. He hadn’t changed at all.

He looked at me without recognition. “You’ll be Lieutenant Oswell then?”

I shook hands with the man. “That’s right. Are the town’s militia expecting us?”

“Aye. I’m to take you up to the town. They’ve all fallen back there.”

I started. “No one is defending the border?”

“They haven’t the manpower. Too many injured in the last foray. Besides, the blasted fog is good for one thing. The Fendels would be mad to attack this weather. Have to say, never thought I’d be so bleeding glad to see you Strahtans in your funny looking get-ups.”

Ordinarily, I’d retort this insult with barbed tongue, for a Strahtan’s soldier’s uniform was his pride. But another question occupied my mind.

“And Lord Asbel?” I asked, my mouth dry. “He’s to meet us?”

“Aye. Now follow me.”

I let the man guide us, despite the fact that although the years that’d passed, my feet still knew the way. There was time for the truth later. For now, the men loaded the supplies into the carts, shouldered their rifles, and we marched to Lhant.

A mile out, we knew that something was wrong. The wind brought with it the acrid smell of gunpowder and ash.

I signalled to the Sergeant, and he called out, “Hold!”

The march stopped. The clatter of the supply wagons over the bumpy road ceased. We listened.

Distant shouts split the gloom. And then, a scream.

“After me!” I called, overshooting the old Harbourmaster and his dodgy knee. “Move forward and secure the town. Leave the wagons.”

Seargant Sander relayed the orders, and the march hastened, unburdened from its cargo. If my suspicion was correct, every second mattered now.

“How on earth are we supposed to see what we’re fighting?”

Emery’s panicked face bulged out of the gloom. He shucked up his rifle. His pack seemed too big upon his back.

“A fog’s little different than a sandstorm, Private. Remember your training. You have other senses than your eyes; use them. And for God’s sake, use your bayonet, not your rifle. It’s going to be mad enough out there without bullets hurtling around.”

Odd, how that cat’s cradle of anxiety in my chest loosened in the face of battle. I felt— not calm, for my heart beat fiercely and urgently— but the adrenaline running through my bloodstream sharpened my instincts into a cold, hard point. Years of the Academy and Oswell’s tutoring had tuned my body like a well-oiled instrument. All my fears and doubts faded into the background. I simply had to draw my dualblade.

Stevens gave young Emery a hard pat on the boy’s back. “You’ll be fine, Emery. Just try not to stick our side with that thing, alright?”

Emery gave a short, shuddery laugh, breathing a little easier.

We’d reached the township’s gates, the sound of confusion and battle ringing in our ears. It was as I feared; the fight was inside the town of Lhant. No time for strategy, nor even to catch our breath. No choice but to throw ourselves into the fight.

The fog constantly shifted.

Here, I saw the silver sheen of blades. There, the outline of men, shifting like spectres in the mist. The bloom of fire from a grenade before it was swallowed. I listened. Only my quick reflexes saved me as a soldier in Fendel black loomed out of the dark with ill intent. Metal tasted metal as I caught the arc of his blade with my own, the screech of iron cutting through cloud.

The Signaller’s horn sounded. “For Strahta!”

In the mist, I didn’t see the man’s eyes as I cut him down. Red bloomed he dropped like a stone, a spectre vanishing back into the mist.

Time ceased to exist as I fought my way through the town. I’d lost all sense of direction, until the man I’d felled hit the ground with a splash. The river.

It was unlike any battle I’d ever fought, for we had no intel, and there was no indication whose tide the battle was turning. The Fendels must have been truly desperate to attack in these conditions, to turn Lhant into a blind killing ground.

I barely caught my attacker’s blade, catching the edge of the sword with a shock that rattled my bones. He was fast, near impossibly fast, pushing me back into the defensive, stone crumbling away under my feet. No room to manoeuvre.

Certain of his victory, my attacker left an opening. I saw my chance and took it; a single solid thrust straight through the man’s ribs.

The fog shifted, and I saw the face of my assailant.

I stopped the thrust an inch away from piercing my brother’s heart.

“Hubert,” my brother said, a great gasp of a word. He let his sword drop; it fell with a clatter on the stone. I felt the same shock when our steel clashed, reverberating my bones, my blood itself.

Asbel looked at me as though he’d seen a ghost.

“Hubert, I nearly—” he stammered. “It’s you— it’s really you.”


	4. reunions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning: a number of descriptions of injury and death in this chapter.

I hadn’t prepared. 

That was the sole panicked thought that blundered into my mind as Asbel and I faced one another.

I’d thought long and hard about what I’d say to my brother, but now there was no time. I’d had no response prepared. Any clever thoughts I had stuck under my tongue like toffee. Blasted Asbel, he’d appeared out of the fog like a spectre of my past and my dual blade had gone slack in my hand. Just like him to catch me off-guard. I could only stare at him, and he at I.

My chest ached. God, he looked so much like our father. 

The mist parted, and in that brief instant I saw the soldier lunge out of the gloom behind Asbel, who’d let his sword drop. 

I moved by instinct, knocking Asbel aside with the full weight of my body. The soldier’s attack met air, and before he could recover, my blade met his flesh. 

The action cleared my mind. I was back in control of the situation.

My brother, knocked to the ground, gazed in disbelief at his would-be killer. It seemed to be his permanent expression. I offered him a hand up, as I would with any of my men.

“Pick up your sword. We’re not done yet,” I said.

His eyes roamed over me. “You got good, Hubert.”

I chose not to take offense at the surprise in his voice.

“Indeed,” I said, and then we were back into the fray, the two of us falling into a strange synergy. I protecting his back, and he mine. 

We laid out the bodies in the square.

Casualties were inevitable in the battle we’d engaged in, but it did not make it any easier seeing the men under my care laid out with glassy eyes. Each felt like a personal failing. 

We’d lost Walker, Green and Hodges, with a dozen more grievous injuries. Young Emery, who had only passed Basic months ago, was one of the worst. His arms had been so badly sliced up he was likely to lose at least one of them. Stevens sat with him in the square, arm over the boy’s back as the overstretched village doctor brought out his saw. Jaw trembling, his eyes were frightened and confused— as though the rug had been swept out from under him.

Even if I couldn’t comfort him, I made myself watch. I wouldn’t turn away from the boy’s pain.

The town’s militia were harder hit, and as for the Fendels, they were so numerous we had to stack the bodies. Their gambit hadn’t paid off. Just how desperate had they been that they would attack in such conditions?

Later, an emissary would be sent north of the border to arrange the return of the bodies. War, when it came down to it, was a game, albeit a bloody one. It had rules, like any other. 

My brother found me as I gazed down at a young man from Fendel. Perhaps I had cut him down. 

I heard Asbel’s sharp intake of breath. 

“He’s so young,” Asbel said.

His hat knocked off in the fray, blood in his sandy hair, the soldier had lost his anonymity. He couldn’t be older than fifteen. 

Strahta conscripted at the same age. 

I glanced at Asbel, and found him watching the boy, face soft, unguarded. As though he was about to cry.

My anger came over me with a ferocity that burned.

“You’ll have to get used to it. You’ll see far worse outside your manor, Lord Asbel.” My tongue twisted around his title. Asbel’s gaze went to me. His brow knotted in confusion. He didn’t seem to understand the insult I’d given him so brazenly.

“We have a lot to catch up on, Hubert,” he said softly.

“I’ll have to wait. I didn’t come for a domestic visit.”

He eyed my insignias. “You’re an officer?”

“First Lieutenant,” I said. My pulse quickened when his mouth turned into a smile, something wry tucked into it. “Is there something humorous about that?”

“My little brother, a lieutenant,” he said, and he shook his head. “Not at all. Just thinking how strangely things have turned out. Could you have imagined it, back when we were kids?”

There was an edge of melancholy to his voice. He sounded like an old man, parsing his regrets, not an eighteen year old lord who’d been handed all that was due of him. 

“Yes, I can only imagine how hard it must have been, being Lord Aston’s heir,” I said, voice dripping with sarcasm. Asbel blinked. Once again, it’d gone over the top of his head. Had he always been this thick?

“You should come by for dinner later. I know Mother would love to see you,” he said. He even smiled. 

“Perhaps,” I said. “If you’ll excuse me. I must see to my men.”

I walked away briskly, flustered and furious.

After the clamour of battle, the silence in the town was deafening. The people of Lhant had been squirreled away indoors. Doors locked and barred, the cobbled streets were empty. Penned between the border and the wild woodland of the north, the people of Lhant had invested in sturdy locks. Even in peacetime, the mist bred all manner of foul creatures. 

My feet had taken me to the driveway of Lhant Manor. 

The lawn beneath my feet had been freshly cut. Vibrant green, decked with great pearls of dew. Even this little thing, the smell of cut grass, dug its hooks of memory into me. Lawn, a rare commodity of status in a city build of sand. The memory rearranged itself out of the mist; my father, Lord Aston, stead-fastedly pushing the lawn mower on a Sunday morning. He’d be up early, in that strange translucent half light before dawn, while even the servants slept in. The shuddery gasps of the motor would disturb the magpies and their clatter. Asbel and I would race to the window from our beds to wave at him. In that pearlescent morning, Aston would cut the motor and wave back.

_Good morning, boys._

I wondered who was keeping the garden, now that he was gone. Though like any aristocratic family, we employed servants for most tasks, the garden was always Lord Aston’s domain. He took painstaking care of the lawn. His yellow roses were his pride.

It seemed all wrong, that now someone else mowed the lawn, tended to his flowers.

My feet met soft earth. There shouldn’t have been a flowerbed here. 

A sweet and soapy scent tickled my nose. I knelt down by the flowerbed. More hooks dug into my flesh. 

Sopherias.

We met at the town’s garrison for debriefing. Bailey, Captain of the militia and Lhant’s stalwart protector, shook my hand briskly.

“I thought that was you, Master Hubert,” he said. “This certainly is a surprise.”

The surprise didn’t show on his face, although Bailey was never an expressive man. With iron grey hair since youth, he was an ageless presence, as unchanging and reliable as stone itself. 

“It’s Lieutenant now, Captain Bailey,” I said. He drank in this information with a brief nod. 

The meeting chamber in the garrison was a wood paneled room, cut from the ancient yew forest. Decades of cigarette smoke had permeated inside the dark wood. The old table with its wonky leg, was likely cut from the same tree. 

Hung side by side on the wall were Lhant and Windor’s banners, ancient and frayed. Before King Ferdinand’s ancestor had unified the two counties, Lhant had been its own entity. The banner, featuring the same dark yew tree the very walls were build from, hailed from those times. 

The banners’ presence made the knights’ absence ever more conspicuous. 

Asbel sat inside waiting for us. He sprung up at our entrance, much like a well-trained pup. 

“Lord Asbel, let me introduce my junior, Second Lieutenant Raymond Oswell,” I said. 

The two men sized each other up.

“Oswell…” Asbel said. “So you are…?”

“Hubert’s cousin, yes,” Raymond said, his shoulders puffed up. Although my cousin was still bitter over my promotion, he was likewise quite happy to ride my coat tails. 

“And you’ll be the brother, then?” He said the word as though one might say, _the cook_ , or _the dog_. 

“I’m _Hubert’s_ brother, yes,” Asbel corrected him. 

“I see,” drawled Raymond, as though what he did see did not impress him. I could see the gears turning in Raymond’s head, spitting out the conclusion that he did not care for _the brother._ I felt from him an odd, almost familial protectiveness. 

Although I could often read Raymond like a poorly written book, his behaviour now baffled me. 

Asbel’s soft features, too, were now drawing together into something harder. The two men had decided in an instant that they deeply disliked one another. 

The feeling in the room washed off Bailey like water from stone. He cleared his throat.

“Shall we get to business then, Lord Asbel, gentlemen?”

However, despite Asbel’s earlier bite, as we continued our meeting, he slid into the background, gazing at his folded hands. He provided little more than reiteration and agreement. He had no suggestions of his own, and when asked his opinion, he hesitated. 

“Well, I’m not sure. What do you think, Hubert?”

His eyes would fall upon me in askance then. He offered up his weakness to me on a platter. It infuriated me. I felt the heat of my anger rising up my neck. This was worse than the arrogant lordling I’d imagined in my mind’s eye. He’d be afforded every advantage, and what was the fruit of it? Asbel was full of hesitation, eyes moving to Bailey and I, like like a child seeking their parent’s affirmation. The bold child I knew was gone. Instead he’d been replaced by his shadow. 

Asbel had everything that had been stripped away from me, and I knew now that if I desired it, I could take it all from him.

Hell, he’d probably put it into my hands himself. 

For once, Raymond and I were of the same mind. I could feel his disdain for the brother I’d once boasted would come to my rescue. 

Asbel, who sensed the palpable chill in the room, though not its source, retreated further into himself. I swallowed down a smirk, as Bailey and I discussed the fortifications of the town.

I relayed the instructions I’d recieved from the President himself.

“We’re here at your disposal until the Fendel threat is resolved, or you recieve reinforcements from Barona,” I told them.

Sitting forwards, Asbel broke his silence. “So you’ll be here for a while then?”

“Indeed.”

“I hope that means we’ll have time to catch up,” he said. And, quite oblivious of the mockery I’d been making of him in front of his man, he smiled. “There’s so much I want to catch up on. I’ve missed you Hubert.”

I caught Raymond’s not-so-sly look of amusement. I didn’t return it. Something in my chest had twisted, like a turn of a screw. For a moment, I flustered. Asbel’s open sincerity startled me. 

I wasn’t used to it. That was all.

“Well— we’ll see,” I hedged, rapidly clawing back my composure. Raymond glared at me oddly. 

I felt a gaze upon my back. There was a soft rap on the open door. 

A voice I knew from another life spoke softly. “I’m sorry to disturb you, gentlemen. When you’re done, might I speak with my son?”

Lady Kerri, my mother. 

Bailey stood to attention. “Good afternoon, my Lady. You don’t disturb us— we were just wrapping up.” I noted that he’d greeted Lady Kerri with a great more formality than he had Asbel— a tidbit of information I stored away for later. 

My back was to Lady Kerri, and for a moment I didn’t move. Some insidious fear had crept inside me, through the cracks Asbel had made. I was anxious of what I’d feel if I turned around to greet her. Afraid she’d see it all in my face.

Asbel greeted Lady Kerri with a smile and a laugh. “Can you believe it, Mother? After all this time?”

 _“Remember who you are,”_ Garett Oswell hissed into my ear. 

I thought of Lady Kerri, eating breakfast with Asbel that morning, brushing down his unruly tuft of hair, laughing and smiling together. 

This was not my family. 

I stood slowly, brushing down the creases in my uniform. I met my mother’s tearful eyes. 

I was ice; immovable, cold. 

“Excuse me, Lady Kerri. I shall let you speak with your son.”

Brusquely, I walked out, heart hammering in my chest. I didn’t wait for her response, but easily I could imagine her face falling, the tears. 

A heady rush ran through me, imagining my mother’s tearful face. 

“Bit of a simp, isn’t he, your brother?” Raymond asked me, not long after. 

It might be the first time we truly agreed on something, my cousin and I.

As Captain Bailey and I headed up to inspect the border, it began to rain. Not a refreshing rain, but a dampening. It curled your hair, brought a chill to your throat. It could soak you through, if you stayed out long enough in it.

I shivered, bringing my cloak closer around me.

“Rotten, isn’t it?” Bailey said.

“I wish it’d just make its mind up one way or another,” I replied.

“Must be different from what you’re used to.”

“Indeed.”

For anyone else this small talk could segue into a conversation about my life in Strahta. But Bailey wasn’t the kind of man to push. Like stone, he took up his own space. He didn’t encroach into others. 

It was an uncomfortable trek, up hill, in the damp. Though as we ascended, the mist, at least, began to thin, revealing the coarse heathland. Bushes of gorse and bramble, bright bilberry and heather. I could smell the salt of the ocean on my tongue. No Yu Liberte manicured garden, this. Lhant was wild and untamed as the wolves that ruled the ancient yew forests.

“Are the wolves still a problem?” I asked Bailey.

“In the woods, yes. But they leave the town well alone, these days. I couldn’t say why, but I’m grateful for it,” said Bailey.

“Good. One less problem.”

We passed by the sign for Lhant Hill, warning the dangers of the steep cliffs, and here I paused. There’d been a new edition; a fence erected around the trail. Bailey followed my gaze.

“Gareth and I put that up after… well, you remember.”

Despite the haze of those memories, that one image was crystal clear, so sharp the edges cut into me. Now, I saw her, as I still see her, conjured out of the mist. Her broken tangle of limbs. And the blood. So much blood. Sophie’s glassy eyes seemed to bore into me. Accusing. 

Despite the horrors I’d seen today, I flinched. I swallowed down the bile rising in my throat. I blinked away the lingering afterimage impressed onto my eyes. 

“Did they…” I managed, “did they ever find out who she was?”

“No.” I saw the regret in the man’s eyes. I knew that he, too, as Lhant’s guardian, saw this as one of his personal failings. “None of the neighbouring villages recognised her description. She must have been living alone in the woods for a long time. Perhaps she even came over the border. Lord Aston buried her himself, up on the meadow on Lhant hill. There’s a marker, if you’d like to see her.”

I nodded tightly, letting him know that I might. I wondered what name was on the marker. Was it the name my brother had given her, or did she lie asleep in the dirt, fatherless and nameless, anonymous to the end?

Her image lingered, a spectre in my mind. Her long mattered hair and unsmiling mouth, eyes alert as a wild animal. She didn’t speak. It occurred, now, that no one had taught her how. 

“Well,” I said, the word a spur. I needed to move. I had to leave this place. “Let’s see this border, then.”

We continued to the border, but my mind remained behind, back at Lhant Hill. 


	5. the stalwart retainer

Our contingency was to be split into two parts.

Two thirds of the men would be stationed at the new encampment by the border, the final platoon to stay stationed in Lhant. I’d been given a room at the village inn. Bailey reasoned that the garrison had no room fit for an officer, but he hadn’t afforded my cousin the same thought. Although Bailey no longer called me Master Hubert, it occurred that his service to Lord Aston forbid him from installing his son at the cramped, functional garrison. 

The thought also occured that Raymond had gotten onto his nerves, as he was apt to do. My cousin strutted about Lhant like a peacock, unable to hide his disdain for the rural town. Everything Raymond felt he wore on his face, which was why he was so easy to play. I sent him up the northern encampment by pretending I wished to be stationed there. Then none too gleefully he packed his bags to go camping, and was out of my hair. 

I was glad of this, since Raymond had picked up a new, annoying habit of trying to sit with me in the evenings. On and on he’d prattle, full of complaints about small pains and imaginary slights made against him. Lhant, in particular, took the brunt of his complaints.

“Have you ever seen such a miserable place? No plumbing, and those dire outhouses. I swear I nearly caught my death of cold stumbling out to the privy at three AM last night. And mud, all up the backs of my trousers. It’s no wonder you’re so sour, Cos. To grow up in such a place—”

I’d ask him to leave me alone, and when he persisted I’d banish him in a temper. 

“Go back to your own damn room, Raymond, and leave me in peace!”

My cousin did not bring out a good side in me. 

As loathe as I was to admit it, his comments dragged out in me a stubborn protectiveness of the town. Later, I’d think the thing through logically, and knew him correct. There was little merit to Lhant— dark, damp and gloomy Lhant.

With Raymond sent to the border, I no longer had to think about this conflict within me. 

Lance Corporal Andrew Stevens, I’d also sent north. Another conflict out of sight, and out of mind. 

The room at the inn was simple, dreary, but clean. The bedlinen smelt of lemons, the blankets warm but scratchy. Above the thresholds were sprigs of holly to ward against evil. 

Mrs Holmes, the innkeep, I knew from childhood. She bustled about to make sure I was comfortable, the kind of woman who is always moving, talking, doing. She wouldn’t rest until I’d had something to eat, that the fire was stoked high enough, that I had enough pillows.

At home, a simple clearing of my throat would be enough to inform the maids their presence was unwanted. But Mrs Holmes required much more than a clearing of the throat. 

On and on she talked as she worked, stoking up the fire. “And you know who else is going to be thrilled to see you? Joby and Sarah. Why, I remember the mischief the four of you would get up to, you and Asbel, your little gang. And of course old lady Margaret, not to mention—”

I sighed, pointedly. I sat at the desk with my quill poised. This report wasn’t going to write itself. 

It was a relief when a distant knock came at the door downstairs, and Mrs Holmes started up. “Please excuse me, Master Hubert. If you need anything else, please just holler—”

“Yes. Thank you,” I said, strongly. 

My peace didn’t last long. Once again that was a knock at the door, and Mrs Holmes sing-song voice, “Guest for you, dear! They’re waiting downstairs in the sitting room.”

Downstairs I went, putting my guard up. Which would it be, this time? Lady Kerri or Asbel?

But sat in his great dark coat, umbrella propped up against the armchair was Frederic. 

He, like Bailey, was a fixture of Lhant, the Barnes family having served the Lhants for generations. 

He stood and bowed at my entrance, hand to his chest. “Master Hubert, I cannot tell you how good it is to see you again.”

“The same to you, Frederic. I’m glad to see you looking well.” I spoke sincerely, for I was fond of the old man. 

We sat, and Mrs Holmes brought as tea as we talked. 

“How is Cheria?” I asked. I’d expected she might be here with him.

“The dear girl is working herself to the bone in Barona,” Frederic said.

“In Barona?”

“She’s studying there to be a doctor. But I don’t know that she has much time for studying now. She’s been drafted into helping the casualties of the war. Goodness knows I worry about her,” he said. 

Cheria, a doctor! 

“Whatever inspired her?”

“You know Cheria. She has such a good heart. She’s working at the same clinic she went to for her illness as a child.”

“How is she now? Is she fully recovered?” I asked.

“Not entirely, which is why I worry about her over exerting herself. But what am I to do? Once she gets an idea in her head, there’s no stopping her.” He threw his hands up, but I saw in his face that he was terribly proud of his granddaughter. 

He continued; “You’ll see her sometime, no doubt. The war is making it harder, but she visits every few months and brings supplies. I don’t know what Lhant would do without her.” 

Now his expression clouded over. “Hubert… I’m terribly sorry about your father. It shocked all of us. Cheria’s been inconsolable in her letters. He was such a good, generous man. He paid for her schooling in Barona, even. None of us could believe it.”

In front of the man’s genuine grief towards his master, who he had served for decade after decade, my indifference felt cruel. In spite of my feelings about Lord Aston, I could not voice them while Frederic grieved.

“What happened to him?” I asked.

“You don’t know? God, of course you don’t,” fretted Frederic. I saw him steel himself, putting his shoulders back. “Then I must tell you of Lord Aston’s noble sacrifice. First, though, I’ll need more tea.”

This, then, was the story I heard from Frederic Barnes.

The herald of spring was peeking out of the winter, much like the snowdrops, raising their white-capped heads out of the steep snow drifts. The rivers ran thick and fierce from the snowmelt up on the mountains, and the people of Lhant tilled the fields ready for the planting season.

It was then in that gentle season that Fendel’s army attacked. 

Lhant had long skirmished with Fendel, but the spring brought with it a newly-outfitted Fendel, with new eleth-powered weapons. The joke had always been that you could tell a Fendel soldier by his busted chinstrap and misfiring pistol. Clearly, things had changed in the north, for the Fendel army arrived newly and terrifyingly equipped.

The casualties in Lhant were high, but again and again, the people of Lhant defended their border from the onslaught.

Each time, Lord Aston and his son Asbel fought with them.

The attack came just before dawn. Fendel sought to overwhelm with sheer force of numbers, crashing upon the militia with the force of a mountain avalance.

Lord Aston met that force. Even as his men fell by the wayside, he continued to fight, a lone sword in the burgeoning dawn. No longer Lord Aston the gardener, but the man he’d been in his youth. Aston the Undying, the sword of the King. 

He moved with the ferocity of lightning. Striking down Fendel’s machines and laying them to waste. He fought until he was the only man left, surrounded by all sides. Even then, his sword did not waver, and still he continued to fight as wound after grievous wound was laid upon him. His blood turned the earth of Lhant red. 

He fought to a man until backup from the garrison arrived, and there he allowed his exhaustion to take him. Even as he plunged his blade into his attacker, the soldier’s swing swung true. 

Captain Bailey and his men, who’d run from Lhant at their Lord’s signal, arrived to see Lord Aston’s head severed from his body. 

It flew a long way, they said, and rolled into the snow. 

For a moment, they said, it seemed like Lord Aston’s body, relentless even in death, would fight on. Locked into a bloody embrace, his blade through the soldier’s back, they held close.

The Fendel soldier fell first. Only then, they said, his duty done, did Lord Aston succumb to death. 

In the inn in Lhant, Frederic was close to tears. 

I held no love for the man I once called father. But as a fellow soldier, my heart moved with admiration at his sacrifice. 

It drew me into a deep conflict. For it made my own resentment feel petty and shallow. 

But there was something in Frederic’s story that bothered me. “What of Asbel? How did he survive unscathed?”

I sensed Frederic’s hesitation.

He spoke quite carefully, with the respect due to Master’s son. His duty outweighed his disapproval.

“You see, Lord Asbel was not in Lhant at the time of the attack.”

I frowned. I remembered Bailey’s somewhat chill attitude to my brother. I thought of Asbel’s strange behaviour. His reticence now seemed to take on a guilty quality. 

There was something that both Bailey and Frederic were dancing around, and I intended to get to the bottom of it. 

“Why would he abandon Lhant in such dire straights?” I demanded. Frederic flinched. 

“I’m sure you remember how fond Lord Asbel is of Prince Richard. A week before the attack, he left Lhant to join the Prince’s contingency.” Frederic’s face was closed, but from it I intuited a number of things. 

Deeply I felt a bitterness from the people of Lhant about their abandonment. They’d given up their independence to swear fealty to Windor, and what was their repayment? Alone they protected the border from the true threat to Windor, while the nobility fought like children for the throne in the Capital. 

“I gather Asbel didn’t have Lord Aston’s blessing to go?”

“I cannot say, Master Hubert,” Frederic said. Which was just as good as saying yes. 

I was quickly putting together a picture. Asbel and Prince Richard had bonded quickly during his stay in Lhant. Perhaps they had stayed in contact, all these years.

Even in their games, Asbel was desperate to play the part of the knight. He boasted he would join the Knight Academy in Barona and become one of their number. 

Of course, as the son of a lord, destiny had other plans for him. He had never gone to the Knight Academy, and he would never be a knight. 

It made complete sense to me that at the slightest chance, Asbel had shirked his duties and fled to Prince Richard’s side, seeking fame and valor.

My lip curled. What a damned fool my brother was. 

“Of course, he returned as soon as the news reached him,” Frederic said. He seemed to wilt now. Sprightly for his old age, suddenly that age seemed to catch up with him. “We held the funeral shortly afterwards. Such a shame… such a terrible thing to happen.” 

I couldn’t comfort Frederic. I was an outsider, looking in. 

I watched the rain fall outside, great rivulets running down the darkened windows. 

Why had I come back to this place?

I allowed Frederic to put himself back together. He dabbed at his eyes with his hankerchief while I looked away. 

“I must ask for your aid, young Master Hubert,” he said. “Although I know that I fear I have no right to.” 

He bowed his head, so deeply humbling himself that I had no choice but to say, “Well, what is Frederic?” I feared I knew that what he was about to ask me. 

“Master Asbel and Lady Kerri are suffering deeply since Lord Aston’s passing. Master Asbel, especially, is dreadfully lost. And the two of you so close as children. If you would lend them your support—”

I watched the rain sleet down the windows. Fitting weather, I thought. 

“Frederic, you cannot ask this of me,” I said. 

Frederic bowed his head.

“I’m not a lost puzzle piece that can be pulled out from under the settee to complete the set. I’m an Oswell now. I have my own life in Strahta. I owe Lhant and its family nothing.”

“I see. I understand sir.” He hesitated, and then asked, “I must ask then, why did you come back to Lhant in its hour of need?” 

His question breezed through my flesh and hit bone. 

I felt the heat rise up my neck. 

“I go where the President wills,” I said. It sounded weak, even to me. 

“Of course,” said Frederic. I saw he believed me as little as I did. 

That old ache was in my chest. Before me sat a man who knew the Lhant family and all its secrets. He must know the real reason why I was sent away. Whether he would answer, I couldn’t say. I wouldn’t know until I put the question to him. 

My fierce pride did not allow it. It both protected and shackled my heart in equal measure. 

Then the moment passed— seeing the conversation gone awry, Frederic steered it to pleasanter shores. He congratulated me on my appointment as officer, and I sensed from him a genuine pride. 

“It sounds like you’ve done very well for yourself in Strahta,” he said. 

He pulled back on his coat, still damp from the rain. Mrs Holmes called over that he must go carefully in the mist. 

In the doorway, silhouetted by gloom, he paused. 

“I meant to ask you if you wouldn’t take a room at the Manor, but I suspect I know your answer,” he said. 

“The lodging here is sufficient, thank you,” I replied.

“Of course, of course,” said Frederic. “No doubt Mrs Holmes here will look after you.” 

The old butler put out his umbrella. 

“Welcome home, Hubert,” he said with a smile. “It really is good to see you again.”

The warmth in his voice struck me dumb. I raised my hand in goodbye. For a long time then, I stood in the doorway, listening to the sound of the rain, noticing all the little things I’d forgotten. How the rain bounced on the stone, how it pulled out all the rich smells of the earth anchored to the ground.

Until now, I’d not allowed to let myself miss it. 

I stepped out, out of the shelter of the doorway, and gazed upwards. The rain beaded on my glasses; I made no motion to wipe them off. 

It was a discovery Cheria and I had made once, a million years ago. 

“Look, Hubert! If you look up in the rain, it feels like you’re falling into the sky.”


	6. the girl in the garden

Eventually even the strangest of situations, given enough time, become routine. 

Even my assignment in Lhant. 

After the first attack, the border had gone quiet. After such a devastating loss, the Fendels retreated into the mountains to lick their wounds. Still, the looming threat remained, hanging in the air like the ever-present miasma of mist. 

My days were spent writing reports, completing inspections, and organizing training detail with the rough-around-the-edges Lhant militia. My largest challenge was finding ways to keep the men occupied, because they had little to do. 

“Why are there so few bandits in the area?” I asked, during my morning meeting with Captain Bailey at the garrison. 

It’d been bothering me. The lands around Barona were plagued with the creatures. They preyed upon refuges dispossessed from their homes, or else, those same refuges turned to crime out of desperation. 

But apart from the threat of Fendel, Lhant was positively peaceful. The men were growing restless. 

“That’ll be the Spirit,” Bailey said with a brief nod. 

I was certain I’d misheard the man. “The spirit?” I asked.

He nodded. “The Spirit of the wood.”

The things people here believed in! 

“Hah! This is new. I don’t remember anything about a spirit,” I replied. Bailey ignored my healthy skepticism. 

“People starting seeing him a few years ago. He doesn’t harm normal folk, only those with ill intent in their hearts.” Bailey relayed this all quite stoically, the same way he spoke about replacing tarnished chin straps. 

“The Spirit,” I repeated glibly. I fear I couldn’t keep the disbelief from my voice. 

Bailey’s stone expression curved up into something like amusement. “I know you’ve been away from Lhant a long time, Lieutenant Oswell, and it must sound like an old woman’s tale. But I’ve seen him myself. He moved like no human being could— fast as lightning. And those that offend the forest he leaves like dried out husks. Not a drop of blood left in their ashy faces.” 

“I gather you’re implying this Spirit drinks their blood,” I said.

Bailey saw the laughter in my face. Serious now, he said, “You’ll see yourself soon enough, Lieutenant. Be careful in the woods at night.”

I did my best to keep a straight face as I told him I would. When in Lhant, and all that. 

He was right. I’d been away from Lhant for a long time. 

The initial warmth of the people of Lhant now cooled to a respectful distance. Once I turned down enough requests and invitations, they stopped coming.

Joby, who I’d once picked apples and played Knights with, fixed me with a wry smile. 

“Funny. Both you and Asbel are almost completely different people from when we were kids.”

It bothered me to hear myself compared to Asbel. “People change,” I replied, more sharply than I’d intended.

He looked wistful. “Yeah, I guess they do.”

It was as the traveling merchant had said; Asbel rarely left the manor, except to deal with business at the garrison. His old playmates spoke of him as though he was estranged. As peace held, life began to return to the town of Lhant.

Its new lord however, remained aloof. 

After my words to Lady Kerri, he didn’t approach me again— it seemed he’d at last received the message. Still, I caught his lingering looks, I saw the words in his mouth before he hesitated and thought better of them. I felt his gaze on my back as I walked away.

The Asbel I knew had never given up on anything. 

The victory I felt had turned bitter in my mouth.

  
Like a picture coming into focus, Sophie appeared more clearly now in my dreams. Little by little, piece by piece, she was being reassembled in my memory.

I often dreamed of our meeting. Lhant Hill— the place where we’d both met and parted. Of Asbel, convincing me to climb the hill-- a place made exciting because it was forbidden.

At the top of the hill is a beautiful flower meadow, the ground carpeted with the blossom of sopherias. A single ancient yew tree watches over the field, its roots exposed by the crumbling of the earth that both supports it and threatens to uproot it into the sea. 

A girl was sleeping in the flowers.

She was Asbel’s age, no older than twelve or thirteen. She wore nothing but a layer of dirt, which shocked us more than finding her in the first place. Children of nobility, the only nudity we were used to were one another’s. 

One of us shouted.

The girl woke. 

She did not stir gently. Her eyes flicked open, wide and alert, regarding us carefully. 

“Hey, what’s your name? What are you doing here?” Asbel asked.

At the sound of his voice, she was up, springing into a tightly wound crouch. I think both of us took a step back. She behaved so alien that she seemed more creature than girl. I focused on her knuckles, dirtied and calloused, as though she walked upon them. 

I hung back behind my older brother. Asbel pulled out an apple, pocketed from the orchard this morning, rubbed shiny against the material of his trousers. I thought him terribly brave. 

“Here, are you hungry?” he asked. 

Yes, the girl’s ravenous eyes said, but she didn’t move forward. Asbel laid the apple on the ground and stepped back. Quick as a flash, the child snatched it up, biting into its flesh without grace, juice dribbling down her chin. 

“Do you think she lives here?” I whispered into Asbel’s ear. 

“Hey. Do you have somewhere to go? You shouldn’t sleep up here, it’s dangerous,” he said. 

His words might as well have been wind. She gazed at him mutely, like Mother’s dog, Buster, who knew you were speaking to him, but not what you were saying. 

She crouched oddly on one leg, avoiding putting her weight onto it, and to Asbel I whispered, “Look! I think she’s hurt.”

Of course, she wouldn’t let us anywhere near her to look at it, and we were frightened too, by her nakedness and strangeness. 

“I’ll come back later, with more apples,” Asbel announced out loud. The girl made no reply but to stare at him. 

Several times, after that, Asbel and I returned to Lhant Hill to see the mysterious girl. We made a pact to keep her a secret, because, as Asbel said, “if adults get involved they’ll just frighten her away!” Selfishly, as well, it was exciting to have such a big secret.

“We can’t say anything, Hubert,” Asbel said, as he swore me to secrecy. “We’ll get in so much trouble if Dad finds out we’ve been up on Lhant Hill. And they’ll probably take her away, and send her to some horrible old orphanage.”

We kept her a secret even from our friend Cheria, who demanded to know why we were always running off and leaving her. 

“You’d better stay and play with her, so she doesn’t go running off to the grown ups,” Asbel said. “You know what she’s like.”

So sometimes now, Asbel went alone to the hill, while I kept Cheria distracted with books and games. 

Why can’t I go, and you stay with Cheria? I wanted to ask, but Asbel was Asbel. Always the leader in our games, always the knight when we played Castles and Dungeons. He was always the one to come up with fun new games and adventures. In exchange, we’d pledged him our allegiance. 

“You certainly are hungry these days, Asbel,” our mother said, as he filled his pockets with left-over sweet rolls and fruit from breakfast.

“What can I say? I’m a growing lad, Mother!”

Little by little, like a cautious bird, the girl dropped her guard around Asbel and I, and took to waiting for our arrival. She showed us her bed, a nest of furs and leaves in the hollowed out abscess of the guardian tree. We borrowed the first aid kit, and Asbel bandaged her injured leg. We never did learn how she’d hurt it. 

We could never get her to wear clothes, for she mistrusted them and the restriction they brought. To save us from our own shyness, Asbel stole a fur coat from the back of our mother’s wardrobe, and the girl was content to wear it about her shoulders like a cloak. It was still early in the year, too early for our mother to miss it.

“She needs a name, I said, one day. It feels wrong to just keep calling her her.”

Asbel plucked a sopheria flower from the meadow, twisting it about in his fingers. Then, with the simple-mindedness of a child, he said, “We found her in a sopheria field. So how about Sophie?”

Sophie gave no inclination either way, staring at Asbel with her unsmiling mouth. So Sophie it was. 

Soon after, I began to have doubts.

“Shouldn’t we tell someone about Sophie, Asbel?” The secret had been fun at first, but I’d begun to grasp that this was a situation best dealt with by adults. Sophie surely needed more than what two children could provide her with. “I think we ought to tell Dad.”

“No!” Asbel said vehemently. “Dad will ruin everything. I’ll look after Sophie. Forever, if I need to.”

Asbel was in one of his moods where there was no reasoning with him. 

So I agreed, because there was no disagreeing with Asbel. The thought of going behind his back to talk to someone never even occurred. So I said nothing when I should have, that silence my own stain of guilt. 

My very own cross to bear. 

  
On those early days stationed in mist-bound Lhant, Asbel and I existed in an uneasy equilibrium. We orbited one another, never too close, always passing one another by. By day I busied myself with my work, but by evening my thoughts caught up with me. My dreams gave me no rest, a vivid tangle of memories woven with nightmares, so that the two became indeterminable. 

Sophie, on the knife-edge of the cliff. 

Sophie, fighting against some terrible creature, razor sharp claws copper coloured from blood. 

I watched my brother from afar, looking down at his unruly crown of auburn in a rare appearance in the town square. I recognised the same animated hand movements, his gloved hands speaking more than the words that left his mouth. He’d taken to wearing black. He cut a slim, distinctive figure in the town, his dress shirt buttoned up tightly against the cold he hardly used to feel. He was terribly pale. His bright, laughing eyes were detached, guarded. 

I knew then that this equilibrium was fleeting. Something, somewhere, had to give. 

The wind shifted, and the fog began to thin.

The sun still blotted out, travel still treacherous, at last the familiar shapes of my hometown began to reappear, as though conjured out of smoke by a magician. There were the dozen chimneys of the blacksmith, unlit, for the mountain path to the mines would not be passable for another month. There, the great turning blades of Lord Windemere, milling the grain from the silos. 

The great house of Lhant, too, rose like the sail of a ship out of sea-fog. An old house, its windows dark and crowded, flanked by stone angels that sat atop it and watched the people of Lhant. What good had those angels ever done?

The garden looked well tended to. It was stirring from the stasis of winter, the first fat heads of snowdrops and crocuses pushing out of the dirt. 

By the new flowerbed, someone was tending to the budding sopherias.

I stepped forward out of curiosity. They did not look the part of a gardener. The person knelt down had the small, slender figure of a young woman. She wore all white, the hem of her dress damp from the grass, her gloves stained with dirt. Her hair was the colour of the sopherias she tended, pinned up above her head. Lady Kerri wore it the same way. 

An uneasy familiarity crept over me, as chilling as an egg cracked down my back. Without further consideration, I was moving onto the lawn, towards the young woman— no, she was surely no more than an adolescent.

Lord Asbel had a daughter, Andrew had said. But this girl was much too old—

She must have heard my approach. She looked over her shoulder at me, hair spilling out of the bun, and I saw her face. 

“Hello Hubert,” she said.

I saw the face so often in my dreams. Those alert lilac eyes, bright with instinct. Her stalwart, unsmiling mouth. Looking not a day older than the day I saw her die, the girl in the garden was Sophie.

I cannot tell you what I said, not what I didn’t say. I heard the blood pounding in my ears. A shameful fear had lanced me in place. My sense of logic crumbled in the face of it. My childhood fears rose tight in my throat. For with her pallid face, dressed all in white, what else could she be but a ghost? As ludicrous as it sounded, perhaps Bailey with his talk of spirits was right. 

“You’re not real,” I think I said. 

A frown made its home in the girl’s brow. She inclined her head. “Aren’t I?” she said. 

“You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Oh.” She looked put out by this. And what on Ephinea was I doing, talking logic to a dead girl? 

I laughed. I cannot say why. I laughed so hard it hurt my throat. This was insane! Ridiculous!

Sophie was looking at me with concern in her eyes. “Hubert, are you OK?” she asked.

“Why, I’m just dandy, Sophie! Just conversing with the dead, as you do! Say, is there anyone else here? Maybe I can chat with my dead cat, next!”

My laughter was becoming rather manic sounding. Concerned, Sophie reached out for me, putting a silent hand on my shoulder. I felt the weight of it.

A clarity struck me. My laughter ceased. “I understand now. I’ve gone mad, haven’t I? I always knew— knew that there had to be something wrong with me, but I—” 

My monologue broke off into a choking sound as Sophie put her arms around me, pushing her face into my jacket. Without a word she embraced me. 

I was trembling. My hands hovered awkwardly around Sophie’s back. When was the last time anyone put their arms around me? II couldn’t remember it. 

She was awfully cold. 

“Miss Sophie, you aren’t supposed to be out here!” 

It was Frederic’s chiding voice that came across the garden, followed by the man himself.

“I do wish you’d listen to Lord Asbel— oh! Master Hubert.” 

Frederic stopped, some metres away. Sophie’s arms dropped away. With the air of a chastised child, she said, “Sorry, Frederic. I wanted to look at the flowers.” 

“That’s— alright, Sophie,” Frederic said, put-off by my presence. He hastily guarded himself again, but I’d already seen the truth of it in his surprise: I’d seen something I wasn’t supposed to.

Sophie was no ghost. And neither was I seeing things. 

More importantly, they’d meant to hide her from me. 

“Is Lord Asbel in?” I asked Frederic briskly.

“Yes, Sir. He’s in his study. But—”

“Excellent, thank you. I need to have a word with him.” 

Purposely I strode up the driveway, Frederic’s anxious reply raining down on my back. Then I was pulling open the great doors to the house, a maid washing down the floors starting at my appearance.

“Master Hubert!”

“Excuse me,” I said. I moved with the purpose of an arrow to the heavy door to Lord Aston’s study. Now, it belonged to my brother.

I didn’t knock. Better I catch my brother by surprise. I had no desire to give him time to prepare his lies. 

Asbel was sat behind the desk, amerced in his paperwork. The heavy curtains smothered what remained of the dull, grey daylight; I couldn’t recall them ever being open. Asbel worked by lamplight.

He started at my appearance. “Hubert!” he said, his mouth curving into a buoyant smile— before he no doubt saw my expression. It quickly deflated. 

I chose to stand. I wouldn’t sit before my brother in his office, like a child waiting to be chastised. 

“Who is that girl in the garden?” I asked. I received the reaction I wanted; Asbel froze, the guilt plain to see all over his face. 

“That girl?” he said dimly.

“About four foot ten. All dressed in white. Spitting image of our dead friend.” 

“Oh,” said Asbel. _That_ girl.

I could see the gears turning behind his eyes. But then he said something I didn’t expect.

“That’s my daughter.”

“Your _daughter_?” I asked, skeptical as hell. “Good God, Asbel, how old were you when you fell on with that? Which of the maids did you bother? Or did Cheria finally recieve your lordly attentions?”

It was a low blow, and I deserved Asbel’s angry retort. “It wasn’t like that!” he said, on his feet. It thrilled me to finally get a rise out of him. “I would never do— something like that!” 

“Well then, pray tell, where did you get her? Did the stork bring her? Did you find her behind the cabbage patch?”

“For God’s sake, Hubert. I adopted her! She was an orphan who needed a home.”

“I see,” I said. “What a coincidence, to find two orphans so identical. And is her name actually Sophie, or is this your idea of kind of sick joke? Your pranks used to be much funnier, brother.”

I was baiting Asbel’s anger, but now, he seemed to deflate in front of me. He sat, looking more tired than I’d ever seen him. 

“I don’t know what you tell you, Hubert. You were there. You know what happened.”

I was, and no, I didn’t. But I refused to give my brother the upper hand. 

“Tell me then, who is she?” I said.

“An orphan, like I told you. Her parents died in the influenza epidemic. We took her in years ago, and when I turned eighteen I legally adopted her.”

“And why, exactly? You can’t have any problems siring a child of your own, surely?” Asbel didn’t rise to it. He sat silently, gazing at me over the table. “Or what? You did it for—what? Redemption? Out of a sense of guilt?”

I was stabbing wildly in the dark, and somehow, hit bullseye. 

A terrible pain clouded Asbel’s face. He gazed down at his hands. “Perhaps,” he said. 

I suddenly didn’t know what to say. Grief made Asbel look older than his years. The halo of lamplight on my brother’s hair, plucking out all the red in his auburn hair, pulled me back in time. 

My father, Lord Aston, peering at me from over his paperwork.

_Is that you, Hubert? Can’t sleep? Well, you can come and join me for a little bit._

Asbel sighed heavily. “I know how it looks, Hubert. But think about it. If Sophie— the Sophie you know-- really were alive, she’d be our age.”

In my panic, this obvious discrepancy had escaped me. The girl in the garden had been but a child.

But still my doubts remained. “She knew me. She called me by name.”

“I do talk about you, you know?” my brother said quietly.

“You hid her,” I said.

“I wanted to tell you about her myself. I knew what you’d think, if you saw her without context. I was hoping to avoid a situation like this.”

“So why didn’t you?” I asked, pointed.

Just as blunt, he said, “You haven’t even looked at me properly since you arrived, Hubert, except over your nose. How was I supposed to drop something like this in casual conversation?” 

“I haven’t—” I started, hackles up. I’d lost control of the conversation. It was I who was flustered now, while my brother watched me calmly from across the desk. 

“What were you expecting?” I asked harshly, the colour high in my cheeks. “That we could just pick up from where we left off, be bosom old chums again? We’re completely different people now. I didn’t have anything handed to me— I had to make my own name, my own reputation. And you— you took the first chance you had to shirk your duties and go running off to play knights.”

I spoke with the intention to wound, to incite something in him other than damnable passivity. 

But Asbel simply said, the words heavy with guilt, “I know.” 

I’d called him a deserter, implied he was a coward, and all he’d said was, “I know.”

“You even admit it?” I said.

He raised his hands. “I know everyone is thinking it. You’re just the only one brave enough to say it to my face.” Bizarrely, he smiled. “You haven’t changed, Hubert. I can always trust you to be honest with me.”

He wouldn’t have lasted a day in the Oswell household. They would have eaten him for breakfast. 

His smile, his raw honesty; it drove its hooks into me. Once again, I was put off-guard. The familiar steps had given way beneath me, and my feet met air. I didn’t know where was safe to tread. 

“Why are you shouting?” said a soft voice.

Flushed and flustered, I turned around to see Sophie in the doorway. I don’t know how long she’d been there. 

“Oh, Sophie,” said Asbel. He stood, striding the space of the study toward her. “We’re not shouting. Just, ah, a small sibling disagreement.” 

She peered around the room. “I thought you were with Lord Aston,” she said.

Asbel’s face fell. “Sophie, we spoke about this. Lord Aston is…”

“Dead, I know,” said Sophie. Her expression pulled together; I couldn’t make it out. 

“Sophie…” Asbel put his hand on Sophie’s head. Her hair had now completed escaped from its pins and ribbons. He ran his hand through it in a tender gesture. 

“I’m still trying to figure it out,” she said.

“That’s OK,” said Asbel, fingers through her hair. The gesture was so intimate I sensed I was intruding. I was an outsider again, looking in at a world I wasn’t part of.

I cleared my throat. “I think we’ve said all that needs saying," I said tightly. "I’ll make my leave.” 

I’d lost Asbel’s attention. It was focused now solely on Sophie. Could he be really telling the truth? Was Sophie really his daughter? A daughter that looked so much like our old friend? It seemed impossible, utterly implausible. 

Yet, what other options were there? 

Sophie seemed to suddenly notice me. 

“You’re going already?” she said.

“I am— yes.”

“Will you come visit us again?” 

“Well, that’s—” 

“You’ll disappoint her if you don’t,” Asbel chimed in. Blast him, and Sophie’s imploring eyes. There was an innocence in her that belonged to a much younger child. Her dress streaked with grass stains, a smudge of dirt on her face, she lacked the self-consciousness of the girls I’d grown up with in Strahta. A disconnect with her sense of self. 

“Perhaps. If I find time,” I hedged, digging in my heels. 

“Please,” she said. 

Damn it, I thought. 

“Fine!” I said, in an frustrated exhale. I couldn't say why I did it. “I’ll come again.” 

Sophie’s answering smile was the sun rising over a desolate shore. 


	7. the emissary

“Lord Asbel’s daughter? Why, yes, they took the child in some years ago. How long? Five years ago, I think. Perhaps six. Why Lord Asbel adopted her personally? I couldn’t possibly say, Lieutenant.”

This was the extent of the information I gleaned from the normally gregarious Mrs Holmes. The response was repeated by the other townsfolk I probed for information. When it came to their masters, the people of Lhant were hesitant to talk. They held onto the old ways of steadfast duty and respect.

It was admirable, if irritating. 

And frustratingly, I learned little. This was the extent of the information I had obtained:

Sophie had joined the Lhant household, a year after I was sent to Yu Liberte. She was a quiet child, although not shy. She’d arrived in Lhant malnourished and sickly, and it’d stunted her growth. She was fourteen years old now, though she looked younger. Lord Asbel was protective over his daughter,and the Lhant manor and gardens were the for the most part, the extent of her world. 

But why did she so strongly resemble the child from Lhant Hill?

“Does she?” asked Mrs Holmes, and for an instant I thought I saw something distant in her warm eyes. 

“Even the same name. Sophie. Don’t you think that’s a coincidence?”

Mrs Holmes looked on me with a damnable sympathy. “It was a hard thing you went though, Hubert. Nothing no child should have had to see. I know you’ve been asking around town about her—”

This gave me a start. It wasn’t like me to be so indiscreet. 

“And, well. Sometimes we see the things we want to see,” Mrs Holmes said. 

Could it really have all been in my head? Merely a coincidence? Sophie, I supposed, wasn’t an uncommon name in Windor. But had I really looked at the girl in the garden and seen what I’d wanted to see? Out of a sense of guilt?

And had my brother done the same? Did he too want to atone for his silence?

My thoughts went round and round in circles, and went nowhere. 

And then the next morning, Raymond returned from the border.

  
“The weather was atrocious. Nothing but slush, right up to your ankles. I don’t think my feet will ever be dry again—”

In the garrison, lounged with his legs up by the fireplace, Raymond treated us all to the sight of his cracked and pasty bare feet. Bailey was visibly uncomfortable. It was always fun to see my cousin make a fool out of himself; invariably, it needed no contribution by myself.

“Second Lieutenant, you said you had news from the border,” Bailey said, stiff as a rod.

“Oh, right. We had a message from across the border. The Fendels have called for an armistice. They want to send someone over to discuss terms.”

“Your thoughts on this, Captain Bailey?” I asked.

“We’ve been through negotations with them several times. We never get anywhere with it. Their terms are always ridiculous,” Bailey said.

“Hm. Well if they want to talk, we’ll talk,” I said. “Put your boots on, Raymond. We’re going north.” The sight of his awful athelete’s foot was now seared into my brain.

“You’re sending me back up there?” asked Raymond, with a pitiably whine to his voice.

“Of course. What would I do without you by my side, dear cousin?” I said. 

  
Between Lhant and the border there laid deep forest. By rights, it belonged to the kingdom of Windor, but in actuality, the woods swore alligence to no man. A buffer between the two countries, the forest had grown deep and dark, untouched by human hand. 

Raymond and I made our way through the ancient woodland in silence, listening for the sound of feet and fangs. The trees here were older than memory, dark yew with its twisting gnarled branches. Many of the oldest were hollowed out by fungus, but still they spat out fistfuls of evergreen needles. This close to the border, the ground crunched underfoot from frost, tendrils of ice like diamond-bright decorations hanging from tree boughs. 

It was dark. The canopy was thick, the little daylight there was filtering through the leaves to puddle limply on the forest floor. Ahead of us, on the ribbon-thin trail, something rustled. I put my hand out to stop Raymond.

“What? What it is?” he said, too loudly. A pointed glare quieted him.

Something on four powerful legs strode out of the tangle of blackberry. I heard Raymond’s intake of breath. 

I’d seen this creature before, once upon a time.

The wolves of Lhant were nothing like the scrawny creatures that scoured the desert in search of scraps. Twice the size, his grey fur thick and matted, the wolf’s face was marred with scars, one eye chalky with blindness. Yet his injuries had not diminished him in stature. This was a seasoned killer.

“If it’s just one, then we can—” Raymond started. I hissed at him to be quiet. The foliage was still moving, and now out from behind the alpha wolf came his pack. Half a dozen, perhaps more. Raymond had frozen solid beside me. 

The alpha turned and with his good eye, stared straight at us. My stomach sank beneath my knees. I reached for my sword.

Then the wolf looked away. His pack followed him across the trail, towards the river basin.

I had the odd sense that the alpha had acknowledged us, and decided to let us go. Something of recognition in his eye. I know you, child. A ridiculous thought, but this place bred the ridiculous.

Raymond and I hurried to the edge of the wood. He no longer dawdled. By the time we were out in the open air he was breathing hard, visibly rattled.

“I had no idea wolves could get that big,” he stammered. 

“I did. But I’d forgotten,”I said. 

This place was not human land. The wolves had only allowed us passage through it. 

  
We met up with the contingency by the border in their encampment. Asbel was already waiting for us. Word had already been sent ahead, the meeting arranged. A tent was erected for the meeting. It wasn’t snowing, but this close to the border, it could start at any time. The taste of it was in the air, the telltale ashy tang on my tongue.

At midday, the emissary from Fendel was given passage. Stood out in the snow, I shook his hand. He had a firm, decisive handshake. 

I introduced myself. “First Lieutenant Oswell,”

“Captain Caesar,” he said.

He was a veteran soldier, well built shoulders that held the memory of battle, discipline in his posture. He had to be twenty years my senior, if not more. The Captain was a well oiled blade in Fendel’s military machine, but despite that, he wore a nonchalance about him. A guarded carelessness as he quirked up a wry smile and took off his hat, revealing sandy hair and stubble that caught the light like flecks of mica. 

He raised a not-so subtle eyebrow. “Is Lhant letting Strahta handle their negotiations now, or have you boys in blue beaten us to it?”

I let his implication whizz by me. “I’m here an intermediary. I brokered negotiations before my current post, if you need to know my credentials.”

The Captain looked me up and down. From men with his age and experience, I usually received jabs about my youth. But I didn’t detect any insincerity when he said, “Is that so? Then you sound like just the man we need.” 

Asbel was waiting for us in the tent. He and Captain Caesar exchanged a stiff, perfunctory handshake that Asbel looked unhappy to be on the end of. He sat, brooding across the table as I offered Captain Caesar a drink. 

“Whisky, if you have it. Looks like I’m going to need it.” It was a gentle jibe, but enough to rub Asbel the wrong way.

“I don’t see the point of any of this. My father negotiated with your country half a dozen times, and could never work a solution. You can’ t have our mines.”

I closed my eyes and breathed. If there was a bad start to a negotiation, this was it.

Captain Caesar took a drink. He spoke slowly and carefully:“Lord Asbel, let me extend my apologies about your father. From the stories I’ve been told, he was an incredible warrior. I’m sure Lhant will never see his like again.” 

Although the Captain spoke with a sincere sympathy, Asbel chafed at it. It was all still too raw for my brother— even the gentlest words rubbed like sandpaper at his wounds. 

“What would you know—”

I ought to have brought Bailey. This was going to go nowhere good. 

“Lord Asbel,” I said, raising my voice. “I think we ought to hear Fendel’s demands before passing judgement. 

“Alright, fine,” said Asbel.

“What the Lord Chancellor desires most is peace,” Captain Caesar said. I had the sense now that he was speaking scripted words from rote. “He regrets that our dispute over the ownership of the mines has led to such violence—”

“There is no dispute,” Asbel said hotly. “The mines are within our borders—”

“Asbel,” I said. I resisted the urge to kick him under the table.

To his credit, Captain Caesar carried on as though he hadn’t been interrupted. “To that end, he proposes a peace treaty. This is on the proviso that Fendel is allowed to mine alongside your own men, and that the cryas ore is split equally between our countries.”

Asbel bristled, and before he could speak I took control of the situation. 

“Perhaps you would give us a few minutes, Captain Caesar, so we can prepare a counter offer?” I said. He nodded graciously.

“Of course. Leave the whisky here and you can take as long as you want,” he said with a chuckle. 

I led Asbel out into the snow. He paced. 

I’d not seen this much emotion from Asbel since my return to Lhant. 

“Asbel, get a hold of yourself,” I said. “This isn’t going to anywhere if you don’t engage.”

“What’s the point?” he said, wheeling towards me. “Half of the cryas! What they’re asking for is ridiculous.”

I took a deep breath, pinching the cartilage of my nose. “Negotiations always start with asking for the impossible. Then we return with a counter offer asking for the opposite. If it works out, we meet somewhere in the middle.” 

The whites of his eyes shone in the snow. “You don’t get it, Hubert. Father didn’t give them anything, so I can’t either.”

“Yes, and his stubbornness was legend.”

I saw something like desperation in him. “You know what everyone thinks of me. How they compare me to Father. Even this damn Fendel, and his “we’ll never see his like in Lhant again.” As though he knows anything about us.”

So that was what rubbed him up the wrong way. 

I knew what it was like to be compared to a parent. I saw mine and Oswell’s twin reflections in the tailor’s mirror, an unsettling image. All the worst parts of myself reflected back.

“So stop trying to be like him. Be better than him,” I said.

Asbel stared at me. “But he was a great warrior—”

“Sure. And he was a lousy diplomat, and a terrible father too. So from what little I’ve seen, you’ve already got him beaten on one of those things.”

The softness that slipped into Asbel’s eyes made me recoil. Ugh, what had I said?

“You really mean that, Hubert?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I scoffed. “It’s absolutely freezing out here, I’m going inside. Come in and join me when you’ve cooled down.”

I must have looked unwell when I reentered the tent, for Captain Caesar offered me a glass of whiskey.

  
As we waited for Asbel, I began to get aquainted with Caesar. 

I’d never before met anyone from above the border, except on the battlefield. Without the visor of his low hat, I was struck how ordinary the Captain was, and how easy he was to talk to. Despite the severity of his mission, he wore his nonchalance about him like a loose fitting cloak. As though he’d crossed into enemy territory merely for a drink. 

“Now I’m curious about something, Captain Caesar,” I said. “Why does Fendel want Lhant’s cryas ore?”

Caesar fixed his gaze at me over his drink lazily. “Who can say? I’m a simple captain. I assure you I don’t have Chancellor Eigen’s ear.”

I’d expected such an evasive response. Mostly, I was talking to myself. 

“Because to my knowledge, you should be provided with all the energy you need from your Valkines. Now, it’s common thought that you want to conquer Lhant like common barbarians—” here, Caesar chuckled. A very well-behaved barbarian. “But to me that seems a dangerous and short-sighted preconception. Here the two of us are, sharing a drink. And you seem like an entirely civilized sort, Captain Caesar.”

Here Caesar laughed outright. His eyes glittered. There was the sparkle of danger in it. I was aware I was treading on entirely untested and perilous ground. “I’m not sure I’d go that far.” 

“Which makes me wonder why the Chancellor would go as for as to incite war. Though perhaps, if there was an issue with your Valkines…”

Caesar’s jovial expression closed shut like a steel trap. He was entirely unreadable. 

To say anything further was to risk the ice beneath my feet cracking and giving way. I poured myself another drink. 

Caesar spoke carefully. Perhaps that carelessness he wore was an illusion after all, for he’d now thrown the guise off. Every one of his words were measured. “I can’t speak for the Chancellor. But I think the reason I’m sitting at this table isn’t too far off from why you’re here, Lieutenant.”

“Strahta is here to support our ally and sister nation,” I replied.

“Sure,” Caesar said congenially. He raised his glass. “And I’m here for a drink.”

Not long after, Asbel rejoined the table. He looked calmer, more focused.

“I’m ready to talk,” he said. 

The negotiations went on into the evening. I did not take my gaze off Captain Caesar. He was a far more astute and dangerous individual than I’d given him credit for. Despite his assertions, he was no simple captain, or else I was the queen of Windor.

  
Night came, and no treaty was formed. 

Neither side was willing to give ground. After a day’s armistice, hostilities would resume. 

As darkness fell, the mist returned, falling like a funeral shroud across the land. The Captain shook my hand before he crossed back over the border. 

“Goodbye, Captain Caesar. I’m sorry we couldn’t reach an accord,” I said.

“Call me Malik,” said the Captain.

“I’d rather not. If we meet on the battlefield, it’ll make it harder to kill you,” I said. He laughed at the drollness in my voice.

“Then let’s hope we don’t meet, Lieutenant” he said.

  
But fate threw her pieces where she willed. 


	8. the deserter

After the negotiations failed, I elected to stay at the border. From Captain Malik’s words, inclement weather or no inclement weather, I sensed trouble underway.

The attack came at first light. I woke in my tent to the sound of the signaller’s horn. Dressing quickly, I hurried toward the ramparts. The men were assembled on the parapet, muskets in hand. I could hear gunfire. By the time I’d made it up, tucking in my shirt, the enemy soldiers had already retreated into the misty woodland on the Fendel side of the border. 

I regrouped with my cousin and Asbel on the parapet. Raymond had clearly been rudely awakened too, his shirt inside out. Startled and bleary-eyed, he scoffed. “Is that all they have?”

“They were just testing us,” said Asbel. Unlike the two of us, he looked as though he’d been up for hours. From the deep bags under his eyes, I wondered if he’d slept at all.

“I agree,” I said. “I imagine they’re trying to get a feel for our numbers, how quick our response is. They won’t risk another pitched battle until they know what they’re up against. I dare say it’s why they sent Captain Malik over.”

Asbel frowned deeply. “You think the negotiation was a ruse? They played us, then.”

“Not quite. Meet me in half an hour in my tent, and I’ll explain my plan.”

I needed to wash my face and have my morning cup of coffee first. 

“Also, Raymond, your shirt is inside out,” I said.

I felt slightly more awake when we re-adjourned. Asbel sat, brooding in silence. Raymond was picking dirt from underneath his nails. A fine trio we made.

“Hubert, I want to understand what you were thinking,” Asbel said. “If you knew Caesar wasn’t here to negotiate, why let him over the border in the first place?”

I poured myself another coffee into the steel camping cup and sat. “Why do you think?”

He stared at me. “That’s why I’m asking you.” 

He was hurt I hadn’t included him. 

“When the good captain reports back about our small number, he’s missing half of the picture. Namely; that half our forces are stationed in Lhant, ready to join us in a matter of hours.”

“You mean to lure them into a trap,” Asbel said.

“I mean to let them walk themselves into our trap. I imagine they’ll try again soon. I recommend the men take a few more moments tying their laces next time. I plan to move my Second Section up from Lhant and set up camp in the valley, so we’ll be ready for them.”

“Hah! They’ll have a shock,” said Raymond.

Asbel was quieter. 

“It’s a good plan,” he said at last. 

As I predicted, the Fendels made their feint again the next morning, drawing us out only to vanish into the treeline. Little by little, on our sleepy reponse, they became braver, venturing closer to the border. Private Davies took a shot to the arm- thankfully, nothing serious. 

Meanwhile, the Second Section, organised by Corporal Anne Bell, made camp half a mile down the valley. Out of sight, they waited for our signal. 

April arrived, bringing with it warming weather and fistfuls of cow parsley like giant stems of cauliflower. The mist was thinning.

We waited for Fendel to take the bait.

  
That evening, Corporal Bell came to me with disquieting news. 

“It’s Phillips, Lieutenant,” she said. 

It wasn’t the first time Bell and I had this conversation. 

Phillips was the Second Section’s problem child. He’d been twice accused of stealing rations, and caught once. Another solider had personal artifacts gone missing, pointing the blame solely at Phillips. No proof had turned up. Certainly, however, he came from a checkered past; an adolescence on the streets, lifting wallets in Yu Liberte. He claimed he’d put that life behind him. 

“What’s he done?” I asked. 

“He’s missing, Sir,” said Bell. Her lips were pressed together into a tight line. She was taking this personally. 

“You think he’s deserted?”

“I don’t know,” she said, the words exhaled in an exhausted sigh. I motioned to the empty camp chair, and gratefully she sat down, pulling her hat into her lap. “We talked just last week. I thought I’d really gotten through to him this time. He said he was determined to turn his life around. Clearly, I was a fool to believe him.”

“Do we know who last saw him?” I asked. 

“Lance Corporal Bouchard saw him yesterday morning. He had his pack with him. Bouchard noted it as unusual at the time.”

Clearly, people didn’t really change. “Is anyone missing anything?”

“No one has reported anything. I’ve already spoken with Captain Bailey. He’s going to check with the villagers and see if they know anything.”

I swallowed down my retort. Bell was a capable and talented Corporal. She cared deeply for the men and women under her wing— too much, if anything. She didn’t know about damage control. 

“I’d have preferred you’d have spoken to me first, Bell.” 

A fine impression this would make! My first foreign assignment, and a desertion within the month. And now the people of Lhant would be checking their valuables, thinking a thief was among them. 

Bell paled. “I’m sorry, Sir— I didn’t think. I can take responsibility. I know I vouched for Phillips. I… really thought he was a good kid, just mixed up. I thought he deserved a second chance.”

“No, Bell. This is on me. Please find out any other information you can. We’ll deal with it.”

This wasn’t Bell’s responsibility. It was mine. I didn’t know the men and women under my charge. If I could speak to them, get to know them as people, not just soldiers, perhaps I could have reached an accord with Phillips. Even Bell, in front of me now, needed something that wasn’t in me. I saw the tension in her rigid jaw, the humiliation in the colour in her cheeks. She needed encouragement, even simple words of kindness. All things I couldn’t give her. 

Something cold and quiet inside me held me bound. 

“Yes. Thank you Sir,” she said stiffly. 

“Is there anything else?”

She hesitated. “It’s… well, it’s hardly worth mentioning.”

“Go on.”

“When I spoke with Captain Bailey, he was… grim. He seemed to think something might have happened to Phillips.”

This sounded familiar. I rolled my eyes. “What, was it his demon of the trees nonsense again?”

“He called it the spirit of the wood. He said he punishes those who do ill.”

I stopped my laughter when I saw the grim seriousness in her expression. “How many others in the unit have been taken in by this spirit business?”

She hesitated, pushing the words on the tongue. “It’s often discussed at rec time.”

I sighed. “You’re aware I grew up in Lhant, Corporal?” Bell nodded. I expected that was a topic of discussion at dinner, too. “I grew up on stories of hobgoblins and witches. Did I ever see these creatures? Nay, not a hobgoblin in sight. The people here are superstitious folk. You owe Strahta more than to fall for their fairy tales.” 

I hoped this would put the matter to bed. But then Bell added, “The thing is, Sir, Adams saw the Spirit.”

“He saw—?”

She spoke hurriedly. “Shortly after we arrived. We were off-duty, and had gone for a few drinks at the pub. Adams took a detour into the woods on the way to, ah—” she flushed gently, “-to relieve himself. He heard something. He thought it was just an animal at first. Then he saw it between the trees. Human-shaped, but skin as white as alabaster and eyes dark as midnight. And covered in blood. It looked straight at Adams, and then it vanished, like smoke. Too fast for any ordinary human. I’m sure Adams can tell you the details I’ve forgotten.”

“I’m sure he can,” I said. I intended to have a firm chat with Private Adams about sowing such stories. “Corporal, listen to what you’re telling me. Adams got drunk, stumbled into the woods, and through the mist and the trees saw something he didn’t understand. Does that sound like an accurate description to you?”

“Well…”

“From now on, I’d like you to dissuade the men from this kind of talk when it occurs. Focus on the mission at hand.”

“Yes, Sir.”

She looked chastened; once again, it hadn’t been my intention. 

After she left, I swore aloud, bringing my hand down hard against my desk. 

I needed to tell Asbel about my deserter, before it reached him second hand.

It was late, the last of the men trailing back from the rec tent to their sleeping bags. But the lamp in Asbel’s tent was still lit. I hoped to catch him before he went to sleep. 

However, despite the little eleth flame crackling happily away in the glass lamp, Asbel wasn’t in. He’d gone for a walk, one of the men from the town’s militia informed me. 

It was clearly a long walk. I tried again just before midnight, and he’d not yet returned. 

I elected to wait, playing over in my head his imagined words, my response. 

_You can’t keep your men in line for a few weeks? And you’re supposed to be an Oswell_? I imagined him saying, a sneer riding on his lips.

No— those would be my adopted father’s words. 

I needed a distraction. My eye turned to the table that served as Asbel’s makeshift desk. It was about as messy as the one in our shared childhood room. Despite everything else, clearly that hadn’t changed about him. 

What attracted my attention was a letter sat atop the pile, written in a curiously cursive and floral hand. I scanned down for a name.

It was penned by my childhood friend, Cheria. 

I picked the letter up and started to read.

> Asbel,
> 
> I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to return to Lhant for another fortnight. Yesterday, the Knights raided our clinic for supplies. They’ve demanded we only treat supporters of the Archduke.   
> The situation here is dire. Anyone caught opening supporting Prince Richard is dragged out into the square and flogged.   
> I cannot say anything more in case this letter is intercepted. Anything is possible these days.   
> I saw Tiger Festival after I sent my last letter. He sends his condolences about Lord Aston. And he told me he understood.  
> What happened wasn’t your fault, Asbel.   
> I was so happy to hear Hubert is home. I can’t wait to see him. Who would have thought it— our little Hubert, coming to the rescue!   
> I’m sure he just needs time. What happened to him in Strahta?  
> I can’t write anymore; there’s a ration on paper, just like about everything else. Please apologise to Sophie for me. Hope to see you all soon.
> 
> Please be careful Asbel,
> 
> All my love,  
> Cheria 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Asbel asked sharply. I dropped the letter and came head to head with my furious brother. That mask of anger slipped when he saw my face. “Hubert?” he said. He looked as surprised as I felt. 

Red hot shame filled my face. “I was waiting for your return and saw Cheria’s letter— I shouldn’t have.”

He crossed the tent in quick anxious strides and took up the letter. Scanning over it quickly, he visibly relaxed, and tucked it away in his draw.

“You don’t have to read my letters, Hubert. If you wanted to know about Cheria, you could just ask me.” 

There was something different about Asbel this evening. His eyes were brighter, more colour in his cheeks. Gone were the pallor and the deep bags under his eyes. Even his hair seemed to shine brighter. A trick of the lamplight, perhaps. 

I stood, embarrassed and tongue-tied. I found myself fixated by his mouth as he spoke, a deep rich red, the colour of—

“You’re bleeding,” I said. His cream coloured ruffled sleeves were spotted with blood. It was on on his dark coat too, cutting a less distinctive shade. “Let me see.”

Asbel put his hand behind his back. “It’s fine, Hubert.”

I forgot my embarrassment. My training took over. 

“I am qualified in first aid, you know,” I said. I was used to this- men too proud to have their scratches tended to, and who caught all manner of infections. I reached to remove Asbel’s coat.

He surprised me with the violence in which he pulled away.

“I said I’m fine, Hubert.” His eyes flashed darkly. I stepped back.

“If something bit you in the woods, you need to at least wash it.”

“Nothing bit me.”

I saw something familiar in his defensiveness, in the mask behind his eyes. 

“I don’t care if you want to hurt yourself, Asbel. But it becomes myself concern when you’re careless and give yourself tetanus,” I said coolly. 

He stared at me. I’d stepped over the line.

“You really think you know everything, don’t you?” Asbel said quietly.

I swallowed down my disquiet.

“You realise Cheria is putting herself in great danger, meeting up with Prince Richard,” I said. She was clever, using our childhood nickname for the Prince in case her letter was intercepted. 

“Do you think I put her up to it?” Asbel said. 

“I don’t know. Did you? You were great friends with the Prince.”

“So was Cheria. And so you were you. Do you remember those days at all?”

“It’s been a long seven years,” I said.

Asbel fixed my gaze with equal measure of anger and loss.

“It has. Seven years ago, I had a best friend.”

“Richard, I know,” I said.

“You, Hubert.”

The blood was pounding in my ears. 

Asbel continued: “And now I find a man who looks like my brother, who wants nothing to do with me. I actually thought we might be getting somewhere, you know, when we spoke during the negotiations. Clearly, I was an idiot, because now I find you snooping behind my back, hiding things from me.”

“Hah!” I laughed. This was rich. “Of course, you have nothing to hide yourself.”

“You know something about Richard and the Archduke, don’t you? There’s something you’re not telling me,” Asbel said. 

I spoke, slow and measured. “Tell me what you were doing in the woods alone, and why there’s a dead girl living in your house, and I’ll tell you what I know about the Archduke.”

Asbel’s silence spoke more loudly than anything he could say.

“As I thought,” I said. I made to leave. “I came to let you know we’ve had a deserter in our ranks. A man named Phillips. He was last seen yesterday morning. If you hear anything about him, please let me know.” Asbel made no reply. I pulled on my cloak. “You’re not my brother, and I’m not your best friend, Lord Asbel. We are two complete strangers, allied against a common cause. I’d like to keep things professional between us, if we can.”

I glanced back in the threshold, to see Asbel sitting on the bed. The triumphant thrill in my chest died as I saw his face. Asbel stared fixedly at his hands, his face ashen. It was as though I'd struck him. _Master Asbel is terribly lost,_ Frederic had said.

The heady feeling turned to poison in my veins. In that moment, I hated myself. 


	9. besieged

Gunfire tore me from my rest, as violent as the pulled pin of a hand grenade. I’d been dreaming a tangled cat’s cradle of dreams: Sophie on the cliffside, wearing Asbel’s bloodied clothes. Lord Aston in the garden with his lawn mower. Visiting Cheria when she was unwell, although that was wrong, because we were in my old bedroom. I’d brought her a comic to read, and that was wrong, too, because Cheria didn’t read comics. Even in my dream, I was unsettled. I opened my mouth to speak, but instead of words, my mouth produced rattling gunfire.

I awoke, heart in my mouth, blood pounding in my fingertips. 

The door to my tent was ripped open, sunlight pouring through the wound. Asbel put his head around, expression washed out as I adjusted to the light. 

“They’re here,” he said. “You were right.”

I dressed as quickly as I could, swearing as my trembling fingers stumbled over the buttons. My dreams unnerved me, and even awake the flavour of them, the sense of wrongness, lingered like an aftertaste in my mouth. 

_Get it together, Oswell,_ I told myself. Would I really let myself be undone by something as benign as a dream? 

Asbel had already gone on ahead. Only then did I recall our argument with a sinking feeling in my stomach. 

That, too, I put aside, buckling my belt. I breathed deeply. There was no room for hesitation inside me. I was here for a reason. Nothing else mattered.

  
The Fendels were already at the gate. They’d come on mass, seeking to overwhelm us. As I ran up the steps to the ramparts to join Asbel, I saw with relief they’d not yet breached the wall. The Third Section held the ramparts, picking off soldiers where they could, but were held down by near constant gunfire. Little by little, the Fendel force inched forward. When they fell, another man took his place. 

I was struck, again, by the lack of concern for life Fendel showed. They fought with the desperation that made hungry wolves so vicious. They fought like men not afraid to die. Perhaps failure would be worse than death.

A mortar struck the border with terrible force, stones shifting and crumbling. I feared the stone itself beneath me would give way. When the dust settled, I heard a shout of triumph.

“The wall is breached, Sir!” Seargant Sanders called. 

“The First Section is in position below. Where are Bell’s people? They should be here by now,” I said. 

Sanders, covered a shower of brick dust, shrugged helplessly.

“Get Tomlins to send another flare up! We need them here, now.” 

That unsettled feeling made its home in my stomach. Something, somewhere had gone wrong. I could feel it in my bones. 

As the Third Section held the line at the breach, I turned back anxiously to the valley where Bell’s men were camped. Then, from entirely the wrong direction, to the east of the border, I saw a soldier in Strahta blue running towards us. It was Private Norman from the Second Section. 

Before I could ask anything, the words were flying out of her mouth. Breathlessly she said, “Enemy has breached the border— downwind— they have this awful machine, never seen anything like it— just bulldozed straight through the wall.”

A terrible clarity settled over me. Just as we’d laid a trap for the enemy, they’d played one of their own. All this time, they’d worked to draw our forces to the gate in a clever feint. While we were engaged, they’d set their real attack in motion. I felt torn in two— I couldn’t leave the men here.

“I’ll go,” said Asbel, who’d been silently holding court beside me. 

“We don’t know what you’ll be up against,” I said.

“Neither do they,” Asbel replied. Without another word he leapt down from the ramparts and made off downwind. Watching his retreating form I feared it would be last I’d see of my brother.

“Norman,” I said. She drew into a shaky salute.

“Sir.”

“Find Bailey and his men and take him to the breach. We’ll handle things here.”

“Sir… you’re sure?” she asked.

“We’ll manage.”

I shouldered my bayonet, and set to picking off men as they swarmed the border. One, two, five, ten… the trigger on my gun grew blisteringly hot. Still, they kept coming. I could hear little over the thundering of blood in my ear drums. My hands were burning. Below, Thomlinson and his Section were barely holding the border. If this really was the end, I’d at least make them bleed for it. 

Then, over the blood rushing in my ears, I heard a gentle sound: the tinkling sound of metal on stone. A grenade rolled over towards my feet like a child’s wayward toy.

I reacted on instinct. I kicked the thing back the way it came. It arched up into the sky, and barely yards away, it exploded in a bright bloom of blaze. The sound was incredible, transposing sound itself, I heard it only as bright blinding pain. I remember being knocked back by the blast. I don’t remember anything else. 

  
***

I wasn’t dead. Of anything else, I was uncertain.

I opened my eyes to a familiar duck-egg blue ceiling. I made to move my head, and a dizzying wave of vertigo sent me reeling back into the pillows. My head was pounding. I closed my eyes for a few minutes, swallowing my nausea, reconnecting with the sensations in my body. It ached, but not with the ache of grievous injury or broken bones. My ears however, were ringing, a persistent alarm going off in my head. I could hear little else— a terrible thought I pushed aside for the moment. 

Carefully I opened my eyes again, puzzling over the familiar ceiling. I shifted my head slightly, fighting off the alarming wave of dizzyness. Strung up from the ceiling was a model ship, a 1/114 scale model of the St Bernard. I knew it well, because I had put the thing together myself. Lord Aston had bought the kit back from Barona as a birthday present. 

I was in my childhood bedroom, the one I’d shared with Asbel. 

Ah, I thought. So of course, I’m dreaming. 

Satisfied with this analysis, that my consciousness had plonked me back into my childhood for its own amusement, I ceased to be concerned about my hearing. No doubt Lady Kerri would be by side with chicken broth or poultices of honey, or whatever else my imagination chose to cook up.

“Hubert…. are… awake?” I heard the voice as though from underwater. I turned my head carefully to see Asbel sitting by my beside. I could barely hear him. 

I’d recently seen the debut of a new invention in Yu Liberte, a so-called Moving Picture. Projected against the white marble wall of the Theatre Imperium I’d watched the silent flickering images of an irate housemaid chasing about a serving boy with a feather duster. My dream now seemed to take on that silent, performative quality, the ringing in my ears reminiscent of the ratting and clicking of the projector. 

“Am I awake, you ask?” my own voice sounded strange, far away yet too loud in my ears. “A funny thing for someone in a dream to say.”

Asbel looked at me oddly. He looked rather more disheveled than I’d seen him. His shirt, normally buttoned to the collar, was loose, displaying his pale collarbone. He’d pulled his sleeves up to his elbows. I found myself looking at him harder than I normally did. He’d been a good looking youth, popular with the girls, and now he was a handsome young man. He’d already lost the colour from the previous night, and was awfully pale again. But something of his pallor held my eye. He held his own internal light, like that of a cold, distant star. 

“I imagine you hate me,” I said, words from underwater. 

I did not hear his reply. 

“I wouldn’t blame you,” I said. “I’ve been nothing but beastly to you, and here you are, keeping me company even in my dreams.” 

I gleaned nothing from Asbel’s reply, except for his puzzlement. 

My throat was parched. “I need water,” I said. 

From the nightstand, Asbel poured me a glass from a pitcher of water. I made to push myself up on my elbows, but that terrible nausea and dizziness gripped me again. Asbel set the glass down and helped me up, propped back against the pillows. Where his skin touched mine, it was cool and refreshing, like a balm. He helped me steady my hands as I drank. His wrists were so pale, showing every vein and artery like delicate traceries. 

“I know I’ve been overly harsh on you,” I said. 

Soon after, I slept again. I wouldn’t remember this exchange for a long time afterward.

* 

When I next awoke, it was with a great deal more clarity, and a worse headache.

I turned my head to the left to see an empty chair. Vague recollection clung to my thoughts like cobwebs. For some reason, I’d expected someone to be sitting there. 

Slowly, with a great deal of stopping and starting, because every move set my head spinning, I eased myself up against the pillows. How long had I been sleeping? Pale light spilled through the crack in the curtains. It was clearly either early morning or evening, for the doorstop of light was thrown far across the room. 

Why was I in my old bedroom? The place had hardly changed since I set foot in the place. St Bernard still hung from the ceiling, and there was my desk, exactly as I’d left it. My comics and knick knacks, dusted and looked after, not moved an inch out of place. A surreal feeling washed over me, as though the past seven years had been an illusion. In those early days in Strahta, homesick and alone, how hard I’d wished for this. That one day I would wake up in my own bed, and everything would be as it was before. Those mornings were the hardest. Caught in that ephemeral moment between sleeping and waking, before I opened my eyes, I could transport myself home. I imagined I heard my brother’s snuffly sleep breathing from the next bed over, the clatter of crows, the sound of Father’s lawn mower groaning as it hit a rock. 

And then, as always, I awoke half the world away from Lhant , in a house full of strangers. No word from my family, not even a letter. 

I swallowed that old grief down, along with the nausea. It’d been years since I was a homesick child dreaming of a family who’d forsaken me. I no longer needed them, nor did I care. 

I heard a dull sound. I turned my head towards the door to see Frederic. His mouth moved but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. I pointed to one of my ears. 

“I can’t hear,” I said. 

Soon after, Frederic returned, Dr Rolf in tow. The only doctor in Lhant, Dr Rolf was as old as town itself, with white fluffy hair like a dandelion and red rheumy eyes. Slowly and painstakingly, he checked my vitals, pushing back my eyelids to peer into my eyes, measuring my pulse. He pulled out a tool he inserted into my ear. He was so close I could taste his oniony breath. 

He said something to me. “I can’t hear you,” I told him. I probably shouted. 

He spoke louder. “PERFORATED. EARDRUM. FROM THE BLAST,” he said, slowly and with great pauses, as though he was talking to an invalid.

I nodded. “What can you do to fix it?”

Dr Rolf pointed to the bed, and with both hands mimed sleeping. “REST,” he said. 

Wonderful. “What happened at the border? Did we win?” We weren’t being driven about by our new black-wearing overlords, so that was promising. 

Frederic scrawled a quick note on a piece of paper and passed it to me. It read:

_Fendel surrendered. Lord Asbel will come by later to give you the full details._

They surrendered? “Where is Asbel?” I asked.

Another note. This one read:

_Sleeping. He didn’t leave your side for three days._

I looked back to the chair, where Dr Rolf was now folding away his medical briefcase. I was sure when I woke I’d find my brother sitting there. But why on earth would he do such a thing? Especially after the things I’d said to him. 

I snorted a laugh. “Whatever for? I was hardly likely to die from a perforated eardrum.”

I was glad that Frederic didn’t deign to reply. If he’d written a note that said something like Your brother cares about you, I might have had to throw up.

  


After the doctor left, Frederic brought some soup and dry crackers, which was about the only thing I was able to stomach. I drank my own weight in water, or so it felt. I was infinitesimally thirsty. I slept a little more, and woke up feeling fractionally better. 

Asbel was waiting for me when I woke up. 

“Is it that much fun watching me sleep?” I asked him coolly. His mouth twitched into a wry smile. He’d brought with him a pad of paper and a pen, and as I watched he bent down to pen a reply. He still wrote as he did as a child; brow scrunched up in concentration. 

_You’re pleasanter to deal with, at least,_ the note read. 

“I never asked you to sit over me like some guardian angel,” I replied back. Asbel shrugged. He didn’t move to reply. It was infuriating. 

“Why am I here?” I asked instead. 

_Garrison and the clinic is full of injured. Treating the prisoners who surrendered as well. Plus you’re family,_ Asbel wrote.

Apparently he hadn’t taken what I said in his tent to heart, a fact that filled me with exasperation and relief. 

I had a dozen questions, but I settled on the most pressing. Asbel was a slow scribe. “Fendel surrendered? What exactly happened?”

Eventually, I got the entire story out of him. 

Having the Second Section stationed in the valley had been our savior. Corporal Bell had seen what we hadn’t, and instead of joining us moved to counter Fendel’s surprise attack. It’d been a small, covert unit. While we were fighting, their plan had been to travel down to take the unprotected town. With Asbel, Bailey and the men from Lhant, that plan was thwarted, and Fendel driven back against the wall. 

_And then Captain Caesar laid down his weapon and surrendered, and his men followed suit._

“Caesar was with them?”

A nod. And we brought him up to the gate, up onto the ramparts. When the main force saw we’d captured their captain, they lost morale. Your men forced them back, and the rest ran. 

“Why, though? Fendel doesn’t surrender,” I said. It was to this point I was stuck.

_We’re holding Caesar in the garrison. You can ask himself, once you’re well._

“I think I will.” 

I lapsed into thought, about Caesar and Fendel, and it occurred to me that I did not feel as dreadful as someone bed bound for three days ought to. For that matter, my pajamas smelled like fresh linen.

“Who changed my clothes?” I asked. I feared I already knew the answer.

_Frederic and I._

I swallowed. My throat still felt like sandpaper. “So you saw.”

 _We don’t have to talk about it now,_ Asbel wrote. 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said. “Let me be alone.”

I turned onto my side, away from him. Locked into this new, silent world, I didn’t hear him leave. A little while later, I looked over my shoulder, and was disappointed to find his chair empty.   



End file.
